


Some Things Can Never Die

by BurningTea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also stuff, Amnesiac Castiel, Angel Family, As in he's forgotten things from before he met Dean, Cas had a life before Dean, Castiel Angst, Hurt Castiel, I think I need to change this to the slowest of slow burns, Kidnapped Castiel, Lots of Nephilim, M/M, My First Fanfic, Nephilim, Protective Dean Winchester, Rating May Change, Things happened in it - lots of things, hidden society, mentions of Naomi - Freeform, some body horror, this has become longer and far more rambling than I anticipated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 57
Words: 122,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningTea/pseuds/BurningTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Sam can only watch the scene play out on a monitor as a woman they don't know cuts into Cas. She claims to know him, to know things about the angel that explain why he can't stay dead. She claims there is a reason Cas has never told Dean.<br/>Finding out may be what kills him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Cut

“The true cruelty would be to let you live. To let you go back to him.”

Cas looked up at her, the move clearly an effort, his eyes glazed. It was hard to tell from the image on the screen, but Dean thought it looked like the angel was drugged. Or just in such extreme pain that he could barely focus. Cas swallowed, but didn’t speak, and even through the monitor Dean could hear the shallow gasps of his breathing.

The woman circling the chair stopped almost in front of the angel, leaned in and rested her free hand on Cas’ shoulder. He didn’t react. Was he too far gone to know what was happening?

Dean glanced at Sam, to see the younger Winchester’s face tight with the same worry Dean felt thrumming through his own body. The tension in Dean was a wire pulsing with sparks that could go nowhere, not until they had some idea where Cas really was. The tracer on his phone had led them here, to this room in a warehouse hours from the bunker, only to find that all that awaited them was this: a desk, a monitor and Cas’ phone. 

They’d only been in the room for a few moments when the screen had flickered to life, Cas dead center in the image, and they’d heard her voice for the first time, deliberate and controlled. 

“You got any idea who that is?” Dean asked, his voice harsh with worry.

Sam shook his head, not looking away from the screen.

“None.”

The woman’s next words stopped the Winchester’s. Leaning right next to Cas’ face, she spoke just loudly enough that her voice travelled through the speakers.

“You haven’t told him, have you? Why you keep coming back. Why you haven’t been able to stay dead.”

At that, Cas flinched, his eyes shifting down and to the side. It was a look Dean had seen before, whenever Cas couldn’t face what was being said, whenever he wanted to hide the truth.

“Perhaps you should have told him,” the woman continued. “It isn’t as though holding your tongue has helped you, has it, now? You are still his slave, no matter that he knows the truth or not.”

Cas twitched, his right hand forming into a fist and his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

The woman sighed, her grip on the fabric of Cas’ coat firming for a moment, then releasing, almost like…like she was comforting him. She let go and stepped back before Dean could work out how that fit in with what was going on. Her voice when she spoke again was almost regretful.

“You really shouldn’t keep secrets, Castiel.”

The way she pronounced his name was odd, a curl in the sound of it making it sound alien, ancient. Even the other angels had never said his name quite like that. The woman had an English accent, but that one word hinted at an older accent under the one she was using. More, she said his name as though it was familiar, known. As though she had a right to it. 

“Secrets have never helped you.”

With that, she turned, a brief flash of her face visible behind her dark hair before she was out of the screen. Cas sat alone, his eyes still downcast, his expression almost blank. His hand slowly settled back out of a fist, gripping the arm of the chair as though he needed a lifeline.

“You get a good look at her face?” Sam asked, dragging Dean’s attention away from what could be seen of Cas’ face. 

“No. Moved too fast. You?”

“Nothing,” Sam said, anger held tight in his reply. “There’s got to be something we can use to trace him.”

“Like what?” Dean asked, his own anger flaring, briefly, the Mark pulsing in deafening counterpoint on his arm. “There’s just this monitor. That room’s got blank walls, no visible window. Nothing. What’ve we got to work with? We can’t just Sherlock our way to a location. We need actual clues.”

Heaving a sigh, Sam nodded and muttered something about help, already pulling out his phone as he stepped back from the screen. Dean heard him say Charlie’s name and felt a faint flutter of relief at the idea of help with the tech, but his attention was already back on Cas, on the stupid angel and his unmoving form in that chair. How had Cas got himself nabbed like that? 

It was just light enough to make out bands around Cas’ wrists, under the leather straps fastening his arms to the chair. Bracelets? 

“Hey,” Dean said, as he heard Sam end his conversation, “Any chance you can make out what’s on those bands round his wrists?”

Sam leant close into the screen, his forehead creased and his eyes narrowed. 

“You thinking some sort of sigils on them?”

Dean didn’t bother to answer. Of course he was thinking sigils. This was Cas. When weren’t sigils involved with angels? 

It was only a few moments before Sam straightened up, an irritated noise low in his throat.

“Can’t make it out. Charlie says she can be here in a few hours. We’ll have to see what she can do with this system.”

“System? It’s one screen. Nothing else. Not even any wires.”

This time, it was Sam who didn’t bother with an answer.

Time stretched out, empty and tense, as the minutes ticked by with nothing new to work on. Dean scrutinised what was on the screen, searching for any clues he could use. The bands, bracelets, whatever, were about all he could see except for Cas’ normal clothing, the shirt and the tie he’d only just started wearing again, the coat and dark suit pants and shoes, all normal. The angel’s dark hair was as messy as ever. If it weren’t for the tight look of pain almost hidden behind that blank look, the fact Dean could see straps around Cas’s wrists, around his ankles, each one binding him to part of the chair, Dean would think Cas was just…sitting. 

There was nothing in the background to give away where the room was, just blank, bare walls and gloom. Cas was in a patch of slightly lighter space, so, maybe a lamp? Some sort of light source. And that…told him next to nothing. The room had a light. So what? What was he supposed to do with that? 

“Come on, Cas,” he muttered, standing up from where he’d been leaning over the monitor and feeling his back ache in protest. “Give me something.”

“Dean, he’s not moved since that woman walked off. I’d think it was on a loop, but…” Sam’s voice trailed off and he gestured as the screen, concern clear in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean said, the grating sound of Cas’ pained breaths a constant, grinding background to his efforts to pry any information from the image on the monitor. “Doesn’t sound like a loop. But he hasn’t moved, Sam.”

“We know he’s alive, right?” There was a pleading edge to Sam’s voice, like he needed Dean to confirm that their friend was still living, even though Dean had the exact same evidence for that that Sam had. “As long as we assume this is a live feed, then we know he’s alive.”

“You think it might not be live?”

Dread thrummed through Dean at the thought. He’d just taken it as read that it was live. There was a time stamp in the corner, reading the right time. 

“Hey,” he said, “That time stamp…it’s set for now, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Sam said, the puzzled note in his voice practically shouting that he was hoping Dean had found something useful.

“Yeah, well, but I mean, for now, now. You know?” Dean gestured with one hand, pulling a face at Sam in his frustration at not being clear.

Sam’s eyes widened.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. I get you. He’s in the same timezone. That narrows it down.”

“A bit, anyway,” Dean said, not letting himself be too relieved he’d found something. “He could still be a long way from here.”

“It’s a start,” Sam said firmly.

Any further talk was brought up short by the sound of footsteps ringing through the monitor. 

“She’s back?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, hunching over the monitor as he glared at the screen. Seconds later, the woman walked into the frame, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. This time, Dean made himself rake over the image for more information. 

She was pretty short, shorter than him by a long way. She wore trousers and boots with heels, a dark top, and… No. There was nothing of any real help. 

Her back was to the camera and she stood so that Cas was still clear. Clear and unmoving.

“It’s like he hasn’t even noticed she’s in the room,” Sam said, sounding worried. “What’s she done to him?”

Dean didn’t answer. Sam was right. Cas should have reacted, done something. He was a warrior, at least as much of a hunter as Sam and Dean were, in his own way. Unless he was pretending not to notice, playing possum…but he was bound to the chair. What could he have to gain?

Either way, Cas stayed how he’d been for at least half an hour, ever since the woman had left, with his eyes lowered and his hands gripping the arms of the chair. He stayed that way as the woman’s head tilted to the side, a gesture that made Dean’s heart clench. It was so close to something Cas would do. Who was this woman?

Her voice cut through Dean’s thoughts.

“This is not my first choice, Castiel. I don’t want to do this. Any of this. But I have to.”

For the first time in ages, Cas moved, lifting his head until he could stare at his captor. His eyes were gleaming. Tears? It looked like tears. Only, Cas didn’t cry. Dean had never seen him cry. 

“Why?”

The one word was rasped out. Cas gasped for air around the word, clearly drained, and his head moved as though it was an effort to keep it upright, to keep focused. 

“You’re not stupid. You were never stupid. You must know why.”

Cas shifted, his mouth firming as though he half-intended to speak but clamped down on the words. A beat passed. Another. Then, he spoke, the words as much of a struggle as the first one had been.

“I have no idea why you’re doing this. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you want.”

As far as Dean could tell, there was nothing but truth in Cas’ voice. Truth and pain. Wouldn’t be the first time Cas had lied, though. 

The angel’s captor was quiet for a long moment, still, like she was processing what he’d just said. When she moved, it was sudden, a burst that took her right up to Cas, looming over him and leaning down to run a hand through his hair, to grip it and pull his head so that he was looking right at her.

“No,” she said, her voice heavy with some emotion Dean couldn’t place. “No. You know me. You’ve known me for a long time. If you don’t remember…”

Dean watched as the woman moved her hand, pulling Cas’ head one way, then the other, using her grip in his dark hair to guide the angel. Cas let himself be moved. Not that he had much choice. 

Finally, the woman let go, her hand sliding down to cradle the angel’s cheek, almost affectionately. Dean wanted to reach through the screen and rip her hand from her wrist.

“You really don’t recognise me, do you?” She paused, but Cas gave no answer. Dean couldn’t see much of Cas’ face now, but he could imagine the expression. Hard. Pissed off. She went on after a moment. “You should know me. You did. Who took your memories? Was it her? Was it Naomi?” 

Dean shared a quick glance with Sam. This woman knew Naomi. Whoever she was, she knew about angels. Perhaps she was one of Cas’ dick siblings. Only, Cas had always recognised them.

On screen, the woman let go of Cas and moved back, turning just enough that her profile came into view. Small nose, full lips, a sharp jawline. No-one Dean knew. 

She looked away from Cas, just for a moment, and reached a hand into her jacket pocket. Silver glinted as she withdrew her hand. Silver. An angel blade. 

Only, it was smaller, shorter than they normally were. More of a dagger than a sword. Dean had never seen anything quite like it, but it was more weight to the idea she was angelic. Well. An angel. The jury was out on whether any of them had ever been what you’d call angelic.

Cas narrowed his eyes.

“You intend to kill me.”

His voice was flat. A statement. No surprise, or fear. Dean could kick him for it. Cas should care that he was about to die. 

“Yes,” she said, her voice nowhere near as flat. 

Oh, it was a good effort, but there was something in her tone, something that spoke of more emotion here than she was trying to show. She’d said she knew him. No. She’d said he knew her, but it had to be pretty much the same thing, right? And she’d said she didn’t want to do this, that she’d rather have had another choice.

“Sam…” 

It was all Dean could get out, his own throat tight as he watched whatever the hell was happening play out with no way to stop it.

“I know,” Sam said.

Dean didn’t have to look at his brother to know Sam felt just like Dean did. Helpless, hopeless and terrified that they’d have to watch Cas die again. And there was always the chance that this would be the time he didn’t come back.

Wait.

“Sam. What was it she said? That there’s a reason Cas doesn’t stay dead? You think that’s true?”

Before Sam could give any answer he was going to give, the woman on the monitor spoke again.

“Years ago, you made a promise. Just because you’ve forgotten it, it doesn’t mean you can back out. It doesn’t work that way.”

Cas tried to speak, failed, tried again, his voice fainter than it had been.

“What promise?”

“Your life to protect theirs. You swore. And then you left us. Abandoned us. And we let you go. You were an angel, a warrior of God. And we trusted you would come back when we needed you. But you didn’t. So I’ve had no choice but to hunt you down.”

Cas’ confusion was clear on his face. He had no idea what she was talking about. None. It did nothing to make Dean feel better. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas said.

She looked up, away from the blade she’d been inspecting. 

“You really don’t, do you? And I’m sorry. Sorry you have to pay a price you don’t remember offering, but either you die, or he does. And if you remembered anything about us, you’d know that isn’t a choice at all. Besides,” she said, shifting her grip on the blade, “it pains me to see you like this, bound and controlled. You are a Seraph. You should be a force, a blazing fire. Not…” 

She looked away, as though whatever she saw in Cas was too much to bear, and Dean broke.  
He had his hands on the monitor, ready to rip it from the table and hurl it across the room, when Sam’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him back. Holding him. 

“No! Dean, we need to be able to see. It’s all we’ve got to go on.”

“Let me go! Sam!”

The Mark was howling, pushing Dean to grab and smash and kill, and he couldn’t get that bastard who was holding a blade, all ready to use it on his angel, but he could destroy that screen, could listen to it shatter. Could lose his only link to Cas.

The rage seeped out of him, leaving him drained and sagging in Sam’s arms. He felt his brother relax, just a bit, as if testing how far out of it Dean was, before letting go of him completely, one hand clapping him on the shoulder in a token of comfort.

“We have to stay calm,” Sam said. “Charlie’ll be here as soon as she can be, and we’ll find him, Dean. We’ll find him.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “if he’s still alive.”

On screen, the woman hadn’t moved, still looking away from Cas, still holding that blade. 

“It’ll take time. I’m sorry about that. I am. If I knew how to do this without… But I don’t. Every book I have, every source, has told me the same thing. Without pain, this won’t work.”

Dean heard Cas gasp as the woman stepped forwards and gripped the back of Cas’ neck with her free hand, bringing the blade down in a swift movement and slicing through the front of Cas’ shirt. Within moments, Cas’ shirt was hanging open, his tie still round his neck but attached to nothing else, and the woman had pushed his shirt and jacket and coat aside to leave the angel’s chest bare. 

She turned the blade so it pointed up and, with a practised movement, cut off the tie. 

Cas jerked his head back as the point of the blade bit into his neck. Dean couldn’t be sure, but it looked like a bead of blood welled up.

“Just do it,” Cas grated. “Get it over with.”

“No,” Dean whispered. 

Next to him, he felt Sam stiffen at Cas’ demand. What was the angel thinking? Bravado was no good here. He should be playing for time, for time that would let Dean come and save him. He shouldn’t be pushing to die faster.  
“I told you,” the woman said, “First, there has to be pain.”

The blade moved swiftly, cutting a line from Cas’ throat to his belly, blood and a narrow line of grace spilling out. Cas threw his head back and screamed. Dean had never heard the angel scream like that. He’d heard Cas in pain, but not like this. Whatever she was doing to him, it was worse than the time the Whore had hurt Cas. And she was still going, cutting a line across Cas’ chest, then another in a loop along his ribcage. Every line brought on a fresh scream. Every scream rang through the room Cas was in, out to Dean and Sam. And it was all they could do watch, to listen. 

Cas screamed for a long time.


	2. The Start of the Pattern

Cas’ screams still rang in Dean’s head long after they’d stopped, long after the woman with her blade had left, long after Cas was left, his chin touching his chest as he sagged as much as the chair would allow, with the bright blue-white light of grace leaking from each line carved into his vessel. 

He’d stopped screaming before the patterns were finished, his eyes almost closed and his face slack. Dean hoped the angel had passed out. 

“I got nothing,” Sam said.

Dean dragged his eyes away from the image of his best friend on the screen to look at his brother. Sam was hunched over his phone, glaring at it as though he could make it offer up something new.

Looking up at Dean, Sam shook his head, sorrow and frustration and anger all bundled up in his eyes. 

“There’s nothing online about that pattern, nothing I’ve got saved in my notes from the bunker. And I don’t know where I’ve seen anything like it before, either.”

“Maybe she just wants him to suffer, Sammy,” Dean said, knowing his tone was bitter. “Maybe it’s not a pattern. Just some psycho getting her kicks.”

Sam’s expression made it clear he knew Dean was acting out, but come on. How could he expect Dean to cope well with standing around and doing nothing?

“When’s Charlie going to be here?” Dean asked, putting off any chance Sam would have to call Dean on his issues. Anything that kept his mind off the Mark, pulsing and aching under his sleeve, was a good idea, too. Remembering the way he’d beat on Charlie helped to clamp down on the urge to smash something up now.

“Soon,” Sam said. “But listen, we need to find out about that pattern, just in case it is something. She said there had to be pain first. First, Dean. Meaning something else is coming after. That not sound like a ritual to you? A spell? Something?”

“Yeah. Sure. Something. But what good does that do us when we don’t know where he is?”

Outside, a car engine stuttered, the noise of wheels on gravel following it. Charlie.

Dean was out in the open, blinking in the brighter light, Sam beside him, by the time Charlie pulled her car to a halt and climbed out, a concerned look on her face. He almost strode forwards and pulled her into a hug, but an image of Charlie lying, beaten and bloody, on the ground pulled him up short. He let Sam make with the greetings, waiting until Charlie was closer before he nodded and said hi. 

“You think you can hack a way into a system that isn’t even here?” he asked, not letting her get a word in before he launched into the job at hand. He didn’t need any comments on how well he looked, or didn’t look, or any questions about the Mark. He just needed someone to point him at Cas.

Charlie paused, her eyes flickering back and forth as she presumably scanned his face. Whatever she saw there, she didn’t comment on it.

“Just let me at it,” she said, but the confidence in her voice wasn’t fooling Dean.

Charlie wasn’t sure she could do it. Maybe wasn’t sure about him and how stable he was. Maybe she didn’t want to be trapped in a room with him. 

“Look,” he said, suddenly not able to just stand around and wait, “We need some intel on something else, so I’m going to head out to the bunker, leave you and Sam here to work on the techno wizardry, all right?”

He saw Sam open his mouth to question him, perhaps to argue that Sam would be the better one to go off and do the research, but Dean remembered how he’d almost destroyed the only lead they had only a little while ago. He knew how close he was to the edge. He wasn’t going to be left with Charlie in that state. He was still working on forgiving himself for the last time. No. Sammy might be better at the research, but it wasn’t like Dean had missed out on practise in that area over the years, and besides…besides, almost anything beat standing around and watching Cas suffer when he couldn’t do anything about it.

“You call me when you get anything, you hear? Sammy, send me anything you might have thought up. I’ll let you know what I find.”

Without waiting for a response, he was off to the Impala, parked just beyond Charlie’s little car. He needed to be moving, even if he wasn’t really getting anywhere.

 

Dean made it back to the bunker before his phone rang. Sam. 

“Yeah?” he said, dropping the pile of books he was holding so he could get a better grip on the phone. “What’ve you got? Tell me you know where he is.”

The second of silence told him what he needed to know on that front. He closed his eyes and tried not to give in to the urge to sweep the books onto the floor. He’d only have to pick them up to read through them.

“Sorry, Dean,” Sam said. “Nothing on that yet. Charlie thinks she might have something soon, but the way this thing is hooked up is weird. We’re talking, probably more magic than wireless. I’ve helped out where I can.”

“So, what, you’re ringing to tell me you haven’t got squat?”

“No. No. Listen. She came back. The woman. She came back into the shot.”

“Is Cas alive?” He couldn’t help the panic in his voice. Something cold slithered into his chest, his throat whenever he thought of Cas dead. Again. How many times did it have to happen? 

“Yes,” Sam said, so quickly that Dean knew Sam was trying to stave off whatever reaction Dean might have. “Yes, he’s still alive. She…”

“She what, Sam?” he snapped. He couldn’t face Sam pussyfooting around on this. 

“She cut into some of the lines again. Made them deeper.” Sam sounded reluctant to say the words. 

Dean winced, imagining Cas waking up and screaming again.

“How is he?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Not good. He woke up.”

Neither Winchester spoke for a while, long enough that Dean made himself open the first book, made himself turn the pages, even though he couldn’t have told anyone what language it was even written in. He listened to Sam breathing on the other end of the line. 

Finally, Sam broke the silence.

“Look, Dean, he’s in bad shape. It hurt him, hurt him even more, but he’s still alive, you hear? He’s still alive and he’s gonna fight this. He’s Cas. Cas always comes back to you.”

“To us,” Dean corrected.

“Yeah. Right. To us,” Sam said. “I’m sending you a picture of the new pattern, just in case. You let me know if you get anything and I’ll see if I can hurry things along on this end.”

Sam ended the call and seconds later Dean was looking at a photograph of the image on that monitor, of Cas bound to that damned chair with ribbons of light leaking out of him. Sam was right, some of the cuts were deeper. Wider. More light spilled out than before. And it was clear from the image that Cas was awake. 

“Damn it.”

Dean tried to push aside the pang he felt at seeing Cas’ expression in the photo. It wasn’t right, to see such pain on the angel’s face. He’d seen Cas get hurt as a human, and it’d shown up more than when he’d been all angeled up, but that angel who’d broken Cas’ all-too human arm hadn’t even put this look on his friend’s face. Whatever this woman was doing to Cas, Dean needed to sort it out now.

Setting his phone on the table so he could check anything he found against the image, he pulled that first book towards him again and got reading. 

Three books later, he still had nothing. It was on almost the last page of a huge, dusty book that he saw something vaguely familiar. Pulling his phone next to the book, he checked the tiny, grainy image in one corner against the pattern carved on Cas’ chest. It wasn’t the same, but something about it looked similar.

Dean read the text around the image. It was from a clay tablet found out in the Middle East. Some kind of cuneiform that hadn’t been translated by the time this book was published. 

“That’ll be because it’s something crazy dicks carve into people’s chests,” Dean muttered to himself. 

It wasn’t quite the same, but it was the best lead he had. Checking the name of the place it had been found, he made a beeline for the section of books that dealt with that area. His hand had just closed around the fourth book he thought might have something in it about these tablets when his phone rang.

He threw the books at the table and made a dive for his phone, jabbing it just in time.

“Yeah?” he asked, not caring if Sam heard he was out of breath. Just let Sam have something on where they could find Cas.

“I take it you’ve seen my message?”

It wasn’t Sam. It was some woman. It sounded like…

“You're the psycho who has Cas,” he growled, the realisation knocking him down into a chair.

“I’m not a psycho.” The accent was crisp and clean and if he hadn’t already noticed something off about the way she said Cas’ name, he’d have bought that she was British. “I’m not what you think.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” Dean said. “Why are you calling me?”

“Because you’ll never find him for yourself.”

“And you, what, want to help out the goodness of your psycho heart?” 

“Be careful, Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice sliding cold and stiff into his ear. “I’ve let you see what Cas is going through because I need to. I’m not forced to let you have his body. That, I’m offering out of sympathy for your loss.”

“Body?” Any comeback Dean had had lined up shrivelled and died on his tongue. “Cas is dead?” 

The words didn’t sound real. They were just lines, just stupid, meaningless lines that he’d had to use far too often. 

“Not yet. But he will be. Let me be clear. You don’t have any way to save him. If you want to give him a burial, you will do so only if I choose to let you have his body back. You won’t learn anything from the monitor.”

“I already heard what you said to him,” Dean said, his own words sounding distant through his shock. “I know you think you know some of Cas’ secrets.”

For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far, that she’d hung up. 

“I know more than you can understand.”

“So tell me.”

If anything, her tone became colder. Harder.

“If you want any chance of finding him, you need to watch the monitor, Winchester. And you need to wait for my call. Don’t worry. It won’t be long.”

Dean opened his mouth to threaten her, to beg, to do something, anything, to get her to give up Cas’ location while the angel was still alive, but this time he heard the call end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/burningtea


	3. Hellfire and Grace

Sam’s reaction to the phonecall was about as cheerful as Dean’s had been. 

Dean listened to his brother swear as he scanned through yet another book, desperately searching for anything that looked like the marks on Cas’ body. No. He wasn’t going to think about Cas’ body. That pulled up images of Cas lying cold and dead, and that wasn’t going to happen. He was going to find a way to stop it. He was. Sam’s swearing faltered to a halt and Dean forced himself to speak, if only to stop his thoughts racing around in his head and ending up at death. 

“Look, I know how shady it is. I’m telling you, she’s insane. And she’s said she’s going to kill him, Sammy.” Dean had to pause to take a breath. It was next to impossible to stay away from that, no matter what he tried. “We have to get to him. We have to stop her. Dude’s suffered enough. We can’t just let him get tortured to death in a chair.”

Not again. 

“And she thinks you’re still here, right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. And maybe I should be. I’m not exactly finding much here,” Dean answered, fighting to stay focused on looking at any images in the book while his mind churned up April and Cas and a blade through the angel’s chest.

“No,” said Sam. “No, you can stay there and we’ll set it up so you can see the feed at the bunker. You need to keep looking through the books. And, Dean, we’ll keep working on this. We’ll find him.”

It took a few minutes of Sam, then Charlie, talking him through it, but Dean got the feed from the monitor set up on the laptop. He almost wished he hadn’t.

Cas was worse.

That glazed look on his face was back, the one that made him look drugged, and Dean was sure it was pain overload. That, and blood loss. Blood loss was not something that should be affecting an angel, but grace had been leaking out for hours by now. How much did Cas have to lose? Not enough, that was clear. His head lolled to the side, barely staying upright enough to count as being conscious, and his breathing was even more ragged than before, like he was gasping more than anything. His hands flexed every now and then, as though he was trying to ease the pain, or else break free. Dean had seen him break through doors, but now he was being held down by a few straps. 

If only Dean could get a decent look at what was on those bands around Cas’ wrists, maybe they could get somewhere, but only the edges of the metal were visible under the straps. Anyway, they had to find Cas, first.

He was well into his third cup of coffee, struggling to keep his eyes open even with the fear battering against his ribs, when that woman came into the scene again. 

This time, she carried a vial of some liquid, held carefully in both hands as though it was precious. 

Dean leaned forwards over the book, straining to see everything as clearly as he could. If this was where Cas died, he wasn’t going to let it happen unseen. He owed the angel that much, even if he couldn’t save him. He ignored the rough burn of tears at the back of his eyes. That wouldn’t help Cas. It was harder to ignore the burn of the Mark throbbing a warbeat in his flesh. 

“Castiel. Castiel, wake up.”

Her voice was softer than it had been on the phone. God, it was almost like she felt sorry for Cas. Like she didn’t want to be doing this. What the hell was that about?

“Castiel!”

She had to almost shout before Cas moved, groaning as he lifted his head no more than an inch to stare blearily in her direction. 

“You can’t die yet, Castiel,” she said. “I’ve brought you something to drink.”

The angel’s eyes seemed to focus on what was in her hands, and his eyes widened, just enough that Dean shifted forwards in his chair, as though he could actually get through the screen and help.

“No,” the angel rasped, something like panic in his voice. Something like fear.

“Yes,” she said. “This brings me no joy, you understand. We were close, once. But you’ve strayed from your path and I need you so I can get back on my own path. So, drink.”

Dean watched as she forced Cas to tip back his head, forced him to drink from the vial. The angel tried to move his head to avoid the lip of the vial, but the woman took a firm grip of his hair and held his head still. 

“You will drink it all and then you will do what I need you to do,” she said, both sorrow and steel lying under her words. 

Cas swallowed, looking like he was fighting it, but he swallowed all the same. She let go and stepped back as soon as the vial was empty, peering down at Cas as though she expected something to happen. Cas coughed and spluttered, his gaze dark and despairing. 

“Why? Please, why are you doing this? What do you want?” he asked, his words faint and pained. 

Dean felt his hands clench into fists.

On the screen, the woman shook her head, her voice sorrowful but determined.

“You have no idea what you’ve lost. When I knew you, when you knew me, you were a glory to behold. I couldn’t have held you, then. But you’ve been bound, chained, and once your wings are in chains, anyone can capture you.”

Cas winced at the mention of wings. 

“I can see them,” the woman said, her eyes tracking Cas’ movements. “Your wings. What’s left of them. With the agony the shreds of them must be causing, I’m amazed you can feel what I’m doing to you. It will be a mercy, what I will do. You have to be tired of the pain.”

Cas’ voice was growing fainter, more strained every time he spoke, but he struggled on.

“Want to live,” he said. “Want to…”

“I’m sorry, Castiel, but what you want isn’t the point. I’m not even sure you can know what you want, not since being bound. Any thoughts you have, any desires, they’ve been his, haven’t they? All this time.”

Frowning, Dean racked his brain to work out what the woman was talking about. What did she mean by ‘bound’? Had Metatron done something to Cas when he’d cast him down? Whatever it was, Cas wasn’t happy to have it talked about. He was fighting to speak again, his anger shining through the haze in his eyes.

“My thoughts are mine,” he managed to say, but that seemed to drain him and he slumped even more, almost enough that Dean thought he’d passed out again.

“No,” she said, almost sadly. “No. They really aren’t. I can see the binding. You had enough grace when you first saw me here to know that I’m not human. Not entirely. I can see what’s left of your true form, and I can see the scars he’s left on you. The chains. Anything he asks of you, you have to do. It isn’t even a choice. It’s an order you can’t refuse.”

Cas was panting now, whether in pain or anger or some other type of distress, Dean couldn’t say, but it was clear he wasn’t happy about what was happening here. The Mark burned to be let loose, but there was nothing Dean could tear into that would help here. He fought his own battle to keep the Mark from taking over as he watched Cas struggle to breath, to speak. 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Everything I’ve done, everything, has been my choice.”

He had to stop to cough, a hacking, hurting sound, and Dean could have sworn he saw sweat on the angel’s brow. 

“I thought you were more self-aware than this,” she said, sounding puzzled. “You really believe that, that you’ve chosen your own path. Why? What impulse is driving you?”

Cas didn’t answer, even though Dean could see the angel was trying to get enough breath to speak. And that wasn’t right, either. Cas shouldn’t need to breath, should he? Last time Dean had dared to ask, Cas had claimed to have enough grace that he was properly powered up, except for his wings. If he was down to gasping for air to speak, then he was slipping closer to human. Or dead. 

Cas had been cagey about what would happen when his current serving of grace ran out. 

The woman set the vial down on the floor and moved back to the chair, crouching so that she was looking up at Cas, her left hand resting on his knee. If not for the straps, the blood, the spilling grace, it would have looked caring. Respectful.

“There must be a reason you are reacting like this, Castiel. Any other angel who has suffered this fate has known it. They have declared their allegiance the way they once announced they followed God. What makes you so different?”

“Free will. I have…free…will.”

The words exhausted Cas, that much was clear, and almost as soon as the words were panted out, the angel slipped back under, the tension leeching from his body. It was only when Cas was unconscious that Dean realised how tightly his friend had been holding himself. 

As for his captor, she stayed where she was for a minute, her hand stroking a slow circle on Cas’ knee, looking up at him as though she might find answers. She didn’t move until after it became clear that Cas was out properly, then she stood, retrieved the vial, and looked down at her victim. 

Her face was visible again, and Dean had no idea what to make of the contemplative look. 

“Free will,” she said, at last. “Now, isn’t that the ultimate irony.”

And she turned, angling her head so that she looked directly out of the screen. A jolt ran through Dean. Her eyes glowed, just like Cas’ did when his grace was flaring, but they were orange and blue and red, mingled together and swirling. 

“Do you start to see what has been done to him?” she asked, her voice ringing with certainty, as though she was Cas’ saviour, not his torturer. “Do you see what he’s become? He doesn’t know you’re watching, Winchester, but you need to see this. You need to see what your ideas of free will have done to one of Heaven’s warriors.”

Dean found himself leaning back in his chair as the woman took a step closer. It wasn’t that she scared him. Of course it wasn’t. Hell, if he got his hands on her, he could tear her to shreds. He would tear her to shreds. God, how he wanted to rip into her. It was just…she was unsettling. That mass of light in her eyes, like hellfire and grace.

“You must start to see that there is no saving him,” she said. “You will listen to him confess and then you will watch him die. And I will have what I need.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Dean staring at his unconscious best friend, with the Mark beating an echoing drum under his skin.


	4. Searching in the Dark

It was almost 3am when Sam called again. He only had to say three words.

“We’ve found him.”

Dean was in the impala practically before the call ended, notes and books and weapons stuffed into his bag, the laptop on the seat next to him. Sam had sounded as shaken, as disgusted, by the last conversation Cas had been forced through as Dean was, and as troubled by what that woman had said to the screen. Charlie had come on line briefly to promise she’d let her bad side out if it meant getting Cas back safely. 

Dawn was brushing the scene with pink light as Dean pulled to a halt at the co-ordinates Sam had given him. 

“You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered, peering out at a street of well-built, well-tended houses. 

The one right next to him had stained glass in the windows, oranges and reds and yellows. Right next to it, one house had box hedges. 

“I hate suburbia,” he grumbled, cloaking his thrumming nerves with griping. Anything to keep his mind off the fear that Cas wasn’t somewhere in one of these houses. Or maybe it was fear the angel was there, that he’d have to see the state Cas was in up close and personal. 

Let him still be alive.

He booted up the laptop and sent a prayer to whatever god dealt with wifi when the machine loaded the scene he needed. On screen, Cas hadn’t moved the entire time Dean had been driving. Hadn’t moved since that speech of hers at the screen the night before. There couldn’t be much grace or much blood left in him, and people could lose a lot less blood than most thought before they were past the point of no return. It had to be different for angels, though, right? Even angels in Cas’ position. Had to be. 

With his insides tight with worry and hope, Dean slammed the laptop shut again and climbed out of the car. He couldn’t waste time staring at a screen when the real thing should be nearby.

“Dean.”

He turned to see Sam heading up the street right at him, Charlie trailing behind with an equally grim look on her face. Sam was hauling a bag that looked as full as the one Dean had.

“We stopped for some supplies,” his brother offered, as Dean glanced at the duffel.

“You got any idea of what we actually need?” Dean asked. “Because I’ve got squat.”

“Yeah, well, I took that reference you found to some places on the way here, guys who know symbols. They didn’t know for sure, but I grabbed anything any of them said might help. We’ll go scorched earth on it if we have to.”

Dean felt his mouth pull into a grimace.

“Yeah, just one problem with that, Sammy. This particular ‘earth’ is on Cas’ chest. How we gonna avoid scorching him, too?”

“Pretty sure that witch has done a good enough job of scorching Cas already. We just need to get him out of there and get whatever spell it is broken. Hell, if we need to, we’ll call Crowley.”

Pushing thoughts of Crowley aside for the moment, Dean shook his head.

“You think she’s a witch?”

“What else? She’s got the symbol in blood, the vial of whatever it is she made him drink. Doesn’t that say ‘witch’ to you?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, “but those eyes ain’t normal. Ain’t human. And I’ve never seen a witch’s eyes do that glowy thing with all the colours.” Dean waved his hand in front of his own face as he spoke, caught on the memory. “And yeah, we’ve seen witches step up their game lately. All that talk of Rowena, that’s a whole new level of shady, but I’m still thinking dick-with-wings on this one.” He paused, the present catching up with him properly, and turned to Charlie. Charlie, with a bag of her own and a stubborn set to her face. “And what’re you doing here, kiddo? This’ll be dangerous. Woman got the jump on an angel.”

Charlie stared at him, her chin jutting out. 

“Look, Cas is family, right? And you’re my family now, so I’m staying and helping get your angel out of there.” She jabbed a finger at Dean when he opened his mouth to argue. “I won a war in Oz. Bad me did, anyway. I can handle whatever this is.”

“Charlie-”

“No, Dean! You’ve got to start trusting that people can handle themselves.”

Something snapped, deep down in his bones, uncurling so fast that it sent a snarl of electricity through his body. 

“What, like Cas can handle himself? Because he’s bleeding out, strapped to a chair, with some cryptic-ass woman promising to kill him.”

He could feel himself looming over her, hulking might be a better word, but for the love of anything he’d ever held dear, he couldn’t make himself stop. The Mark and his own need for Charlie to stay safe both clamoured at him to make her back down, to make her submit. 

Charlie was having none of it. She stepped forwards and did a damn good job of looming back for someone so much shorter than he was.

“Then we’d better get in there and help him, before glowy-eyes decides he can take a few more hit-points.”

Behind her now, Sam pulled a face that clearly told Dean he’d lose this one. He wondered how much Sam had fought against Charlie coming already. She was right, though. They needed to get to Cas.

“Fine.” He pointed at her again. “But you stay behind Sam, understand?”

He only waited for her nod before his attention shifted back to his brother.

“So, which one of these places are we looking at?”

Sam took the lead, Charlie right behind him and Dean bringing up the rear. It grated, but Sam knew where he was going and this way he could make sure nothing got the jump on them from behind. They made a beeline for a house three down from the one with the stained glass windows, a tall, affluent looking place with a porch and coach-lights either side of the door. Coach-lights. If there was one thing Dean had learned over the years, it was that evil could hang-out anywhere. Still seemed wrong to be looking for a torture chamber here, though.

Breaking in through a back window was almost too easy and they slipped inside one at a time to find themselves in a darkened hallway. Sam nodded down the hall and set off, part-crouched and walking carefully, his gun out at the ready. Dean followed suit. Charlie had got hold of a knife that was almost a sword. After what he’d heard about Oz, Dean was prepared to believe she knew how to use it. Didn’t mean he was all right with her being here. 

The place was silent. 

Sam froze in front of a door, gesturing at the floor, and Dean craned around him to see a sigil painted on the floorboards. The door itself had a lock and a bolt. Glancing around, he saw another sigil on the wall to the left of the door. Charlie was on the second sigil before Sam had finished slashing through the first one with a can of spray-paint from his bag. Sigils. Angels. Or someone who knew about angels. 

Maybe Cas’ captor was a demon, some kind they hadn’t come across before.

They searched the area for any more sigils before picking the lock on the door and sliding the bolt slowly. Years of practice meant the whole thing was done in near silence, any tiny noise being swallowed by the echoing darkness of the place. It was as though everything was muffled, sluggish. 

Dean shook his head and wondered if this was part of some spell, as well. 

Partway down the stairs, Sam hit a step that creaked, a tearing noise in the gloom. They stopped. Dean’s heart was beating almost as loudly as the Mark, the constant thud underscoring the lack of sound from anywhere else. He couldn’t hear the rasping breath of an angel in pain. 

Nothing came at them out of the dark. Nothing seemed to have been alerted by Sam’s step. 

Wishing they’d left Charlie outside on lookout, Dean followed the other two down onto the solid floor of a basement level. Walls reared up on either side. A corridor. It stretched both ways, looking longer than should be possible under the size of the house. Could be magic. Could just be really dodgy home improvements. 

Sam indicated he’d go one way and Dean nodded. Sam could keep an eye on Charlie, and Dean could move faster if he could get out from behind them.

He took off to the right, twisting back under the steps and down an almost lightless corridor. Dim lights up near the ceiling stopped it from being totally black, but all they really did was outline the darkness, making the whole place a dull, grey mess of confusion. He thought he saw a doorway up ahead, but it was like his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Pulling level with it, he saw it was a door, a door made of some splintered wood with carvings marring the surface. It took almost a minute to pick the lock on this one and Dean half expected blowback from some spell. He heaved a sigh of relief as the door opened, and winced as it creaked. 

Still, no-one came running, so call that a win.

Inside, the glow of the lights was a fraction brighter, enough to show him a familiar chair. A familiar chair with straps on the arms and legs, with what looked like a hook partway up the back, and he wouldn’t let himself wonder about that. A familiar chair with no-one in it. 

“No.”

The word slipped out without permission and he cursed silently. They had to be quiet. They had no idea what this woman was capable of and the mission here had to be to get Cas out unnoticed if they could. 

The ache under his breastbone at the empty chair made him want a drink. Just one to shield him through this. He pushed himself forwards to check around the chair for any clues, but there was nothing. Just concrete flooring and those straps. 

Wait. Just concrete. No stains. 

Cas had been bleeding for a while. Dean racked his brain, desperate to conjure up an image of the floor. Had it been stained in Cas’ blood? If so, this didn’t match. Maybe there was another room, another room with Cas bound to a similar chair. Hopefully a chair without a wicked looking hook up where the angel’s shoulder-blades would be. 

Moving swiftly, he made his way back out to the corridor and walked on, looking out for another door. He could hear his own footsteps, no matter how softly he stepped, but nothing else. No sign that Sam and Charlie were down here, too. No hint that an angel was being kept, bound and bleeding, anywhere in the place. He’d better be here. If he’d been moved…

Another doorway swam out of the gloom and Dean fell to getting inside, swallowing around the dry fear in his throat. This felt like his last chance to get Cas back. Ridiculous. If there were other rooms, then Cas could just as well be in the other direction. Sam could already have found him. Or there could be yet another door, further on. Logic didn’t make a dent in Dean’s fear. 

This time, when the door opened it was a room with more light. At first, he could see nothing but walls and floor and ceiling, then the door swung open further, and his insides lurched.

Cas.

He’d found him.


	5. Second Cut

Dean rushed to Cas’ side, reaching out to touch the angel as soon as he was close enough, one hand resting on Cas’ knee and the other reaching for the pulse in his neck. 

Cas looked dead.

No. No, no, no. He wasn’t going to think that. He wasn’t. Not unless he was forced to. 

Slipping his hand along Cas’ neck, he felt for the pulse point. Angels had those, right? And he should hear breathing. Cas had been breathing in the live-stream. 

It was almost impossible to hear anything over the joint drums of his own heart and the Mark, pounding away and demanding he find that woman, that he tear her to pieces for daring to touch Dean’s angel. And the blood…

Unable to find a pulse, Dean yanked his hand back and wiped it on his jacket. His skin was sticky with Cas’ blood. He reached out again, this time to hold his hand in front of Cas’ face, to get close enough to tell if breath was coming out of the angel. 

He had to try twice before his hand was steady enough, and then he had to wait for what seemed like too long, much too long, before he felt air puff against his skin. 

“Cas,” he said, the word urgent on his tongue. “Cas, come on, buddy. Wake up.”

Knowing the angel was alive, he dared to shift his other hand from Cas’ knee to his shoulder, his left hand reaching up to cup Cas’ face. He wanted to shake him, to shake him awake and then shake some sense into him. Whatever he’d done that had got him tied up in here, Cas needed to never do it again. 

It was a fight to keep his movements gentle enough that they should rouse Cas without hurting him further. He called his friend again, shaking him and willing him to wake up. Nothing. 

Fine. Plan B it was. If Cas couldn’t wake up, then Dean would just have to carry him out of here. 

He set to work on the first strap, first looking for a way to undo it and then using a knife to hack through it. It took longer than it should have, the leather thick and tough, but he got Cas’ right arm free and…shit. 

The metal band around the angel’s wrist looked like some kind of silver, but it was harder than steel. Angel-blade metal, maybe. Deep lines were etched into the metal in a pattern even weirder than the one on Cas’ chest. There was no way to open it. The whole thing was one seamless piece of metal. Worse, at least for the immediate future, what Dean could see of Cas’ skin under the metal was sore and bleeding, like it had been cutting him. 

“Fuck, Cas,” he muttered, that hot pressure behind his eyes building again. “What have you got yourself into?”

He was most of the way through the second arm-strap, the ones on Cas’ legs taken care of, when Sam and Charlie found him, appearing almost silently in the doorway. Silently until they saw Cas.

“Dean.”

Sam’s voice was ragged, as though he’d just been hit in the solar-plexis. 

“I know,” Dean said, “Come over here and help.”

Charlie stayed by the door, throwing worried glances over at the chair and its occupant, as Sam crossed the room quickly and dropped to his knees next to Dean just as the last strap broke. With a nod at his brother, Sam reached out and took hold of Cas’ shoulders as Dean moved around to the side to check the angel was free and could be moved. He set a hand on Cas’ back and shifted him forwards, just part of an inch.

Cas gasped, a cry of pain bitten off as he jolted awake, his eyes wide and staring. 

“Shit. Cas. Sorry. Just…just hold still. We’ll get you out of here soon as we can.”

Cas didn’t answer. He just fell into laboured pants, not seeming to have heard Dean at all. Sam looked up at Dean, who shook his head and scowled.

“We’ve got more work to do.”

As soon as he’d shifted Cas, the problem had been clear. This chair had its own hook, and it was buried in Cas’ back. The fabric of his coat was split, and Dean could just make out where the hook bit into Cas’ flesh. It looked like it had been drilled into his shoulder-blades. Cas had to have more grace left than Dean had thought, or how was he still alive? 

“Shit, Dean, how are we going to get that out of him?” Sam asked.

Dean glanced up, only just realising that his brother had come to stand beside him, one hand still on Cas’ shoulder to keep him steady. The look on Sam’s face was a mix of horror and nausea. Dean was only just holding onto last night’s meal as it was, the acid wash of bile threatening to spill up into his mouth. 

“I got no idea.”

They stared in bleak despair at the sight for too long, until Cas’ pain and the folly of standing around doing nothing both got to be too much. With a fervent promise to punch God in the face for letting any of this happen, Dean hefted his knife and shared a grim look with Sam.

“I’ll take care of the noise,” Sam said.

Dean didn’t ask. He tried to ignore the fact that Sam had dropped to his knees again next to Cas and taken hold of the back of the angel’s head with one hand, clamping the other across their friend’s mouth. He tried to ignore it, but he knew it would be etched into the back of his eyeballs. That, and the way Cas jerked when he dug the blade in next to the hook. Stopping wouldn’t help. Taking it slow would just draw out the pain. 

With strong movements, telling himself that it was the only way, that they’d get Cas healed up and make it up to him, Dean cut. 

He was only partway down one side of the hook when Cas began to scream. The sounds were strangled, muffled by Sam’s hand, but Dean found himself praying, desperately urging Cas to stay quiet, to believe that they were doing this to help him. He just had to suffer through it for a little while, and they’d get him out of here. Please, Cas. Please, just try and bear it for a little while.

He had no idea if the angel heard him, but he nearly sagged with relief when Cas went limp. Passed out. He shot a look at Sam to double check that was all it was, and his brother nodded. Good. Unconscious was best right now. Unconscious meant Cas wasn’t making noise and risking getting them caught. 

Unconscious meant there was no chance Cas would risk seeing the look in Dean’s eyes as the Mark hummed in approval of cutting into his best friend’s flesh. 

It took forever to get Cas free, and once he sagged forwards into Sam’s arms they got him bundled over the larger Winchester’s shoulder right away. Sam would end up coated in blood, but it would hardly be the first time. Any first aid would have to wait until they were out. Dean’s senses had been screaming at him to get out of this place for a while.

Charlie was pale when Dean passed her, looking more like she might throw up than Dean felt, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he lost the contents of his stomach before they got back to the car. 

Somehow, the last streaks of dawn light were still in the sky when they landed in the flower bed under the window, Sam shifting Cas over to Dean and then the two of them lugging him out as carefully as they could. Sam moved to take Cas back, but Dean shook his head and hefted the angel over his own shoulder. Cas was heavier than he looked. Sam could take a break. Besides, it was Dean’s job to look after Cas.

He didn’t let himself wonder where that belief had come from. 

Charlie waved goodbye for now and raced to her car as soon as they hit the street, the plan already made for her to meet them back at the bunker. Dean didn’t even watch her go. His entire focus now was on getting Cas into the impala and then home. Home to the bunker.

Assuming the angel lived that far.

He could feel blood slicking down his own back, and none of it was his. How much had Cas lost? No matter where he put his hands, he found Cas coated in sticky liquid. 

When they got to the impala, Sam moved towards the boot, but Dean called him back.

“Leave it. There’s too much blood for a blanket to stop it, anyway. Here, you drive.”

He threw the keys at Sam and waited until the door was open before maneuvering Cas into the back seat, sliding in with the angel and settling himself so that Cas’ head was resting on Dean’s shoulder. Fuck, there was so much blood. At this rate, Cas would bleed out before they got home.

He looked up as a wad of material hit him, grimacing at the look on Sam’s face as he grabbed the blanket and shoved it under Cas’ back. It would have to do for a make-shift bandage for now. 

Sam was in the car and pulling away from the curb by the time Dean had the blanket in place, and he turned to checking out what he could see of the rest of Cas. It wasn’t a happy survey. 

The angel was pale. Even when Dean had seen him dead in that chair in the Reaper’s apartment, Cas’ hadn’t been as pale as this. Streaks of red and brown, where the blood had dried, covered his chest. He even had blood on his face. Must be from being heaved around on the way out. Blood had got everywhere. 

“Shit, Sam. I don’t know how he’s even still alive.”

Sam grunted, not looking back, and stepped on the accelerator. Dean pressed his hand to Cas’ forehead in a useless gesture of comfort. Sam was right. If Cas wasn’t dead yet, it was his angelic nature that was keeping him alive, not anything mortal. There wouldn’t be anything they could do for him at a hospital and stopping at a motel would just mean wasting time getting to the supplies they had at the bunker. It was better to put on speed and get home as soon as they could.

Logic told him that made perfect sense. The chaotic jumble of guilt and panic and fear in his mind shouted at him that he needed to do something now. At least he had Cas back. He clung onto that thought as the impala tore through town on her way back to the highway, and Cas’ ragged breaths filled the backseat.


	6. Bloodstains

The bunker was icy cold. Or maybe that was just the dread in Dean’s bones as he carried Cas down into their home. The angel had grown quieter and quieter as they’d got closer to the bunker, until Dean had found himself checking that Cas was still breathing. It had been a relief to pull up in the garage, but any relief was tempered by fear of what was ahead of them. 

Both of the Winchesters had been beaten up before, and Cas had turned up in bad shape more than once, but this was different. Sure, Cas had thrown in comments about being tortured in the past, but mostly he’d been healed up before Dean had seen him, and it had been all too easy to let the reality of Cas’ words slide out of Dean’s mind. This time, the evidence was soaking into Dean’s clothes.

By the time Dean got Cas down into the main part of the bunker, Sam had swept everything off one of the tables in the library and had spread sheets out over it. 

“In here, Sam? He doesn’t get a bed?” Dean asked, his grip tightening on Cas at the thought of dumping him on a table like some…some thing.

“Dean, we need to get a good look at his wounds, in decent light, and he’ll bleed right through to a mattress. Come on, once we’ve got him patched up we can move him into any room you like, all right?”

Dean hesitated, his fingers digging into the parts of Cas he was holding onto to stop the angel from sliding off his shoulder and on to the floor. The look on Sam’s face, part sympathy and part irritation, was enough to get him moving. He wasn’t sure which one spurred him on more. 

Sam helped him to guide Cas onto the table’s surface, and once the angel was safely down they both stood helplessly for a moment. 

“Where the fuck do we even start?” Dean asked. 

His brother didn’t answer. Dean leaned over Cas, taking in the blood marring his skin and the faint, much fainter than before, lines of grace along his torso. They’d set him down on his back, maybe a mistake with that hole between his shoulders, but Dean had kept the blanket pressed to it and it was still packed in there. Still, that was where they should start.

Wincing at the sharpness of Cas’ breaths as he turned him, but grateful that at least his friend was showing some signs of life, Dean got the angel onto his stomach, taking care to keep the clean sheet under him. It took some effort to cut the coat, jacket and shirt from Cas’ back, the shredded remains of his outfit falling about him in ruins, and once that was done he had no choice but to take in the ruin he’d made of Cas’ back.

“That…Dean…”

Sam didn’t so much say the words as expel them on a low breath. 

“I know,” Dean said, his voice tight. “You got any idea how to patch a wound like that?”

Sam shook his head. Neither of them had ever had to deal with something like that. At least, not up here on Earth. Dean shoved aside the flash of memory of how deep the gouges had been in Hell. Wasn’t like bodies worked normally down there, in any case.

“All I can think is, we clean it. He’s an angel, right? Crowley dug the angel tablet out of his stomach and he lived.” Sam was clearly trying to sound certain, but doubt laced his words.

“He was fully mojo-ed up, then, Sam,” Dean pointed out. “With his own grace. And it still took him longer than it normally does. Did. There’s no telling how long it’ll be with this fake grace he’s got now.”

“It’s not fake, Dean,” Sam corrected. “It’s just not his.”

“Not the important point,” Dean said. “Point is, have we done the right thing, bringing him here?”

“And what else were we gonna do?” Sam asked. “Take him to a hospital? How’d we explain the way he’s leaking blue light?”

Having no answer for that, Dean ignored it. 

They did the best they could, but by the time Charlie arrived at the bunker, bearing supplies to last the next few days, all they’d really done was clean Cas up and get him out of his tattered clothes.

“Oh,” Charlie said, her voice small, as she stared at a guy she’d read about as a warrior of God. 

She stood a few feet away from where they’d made Cas up a bed on a mattress they’d dragged into the main room, where they could keep an eye on him more easily. The angel looked tiny, swaddled up in a pair of Dean’s sweatpants and packed around with blankets to stop the shivering that had set in about an hour before. They hadn’t dared put him in a top, not sure what that would do to the pattern of light and blood on his chest. 

Sam was off at the main table, pouring over the books Dean had dragged off the shelves before in case he could find something about that pattern, but Dean had spent the time since they got Cas settled sitting on the floor by his friend’s head, just staring.

Something was niggling away at the back of his mind, and he couldn’t get a good enough purchase on it to be sure what it was.

Charlie’s dismay at seeing Cas brought him to his feet, and he went to help her with the supplies she was carrying, rubbing a hand across his face as he moved away from Cas.

“You all right, kiddo?” he asked. When Charlie nodded, her eyes still fixed on Cas, he pulled a face. “Yeah. Quite the shock, isn’t it? I guess you read all about him being indestructible in those books of Chuck’s, too. Don’t you worry. He’s been through worse.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, looking like she knew how much of that statement was just Dean trying to reassure himself. He ignored it and took the bags she held, vanishing into the kitchen before either Charlie or Sam could call him on his bullshit. 

Fact was, there was nothing else they could do for Cas. In the past, the guy’d healed himself up. Whenever things had got really bad, he’d somehow found a way to come back, to keep fighting, and Dean hadn’t really worked out how much he’d counted on Cas for that. He had no idea what to do for his friend right now. Those wounds weren’t normal. Even cleaning the blood off had been harder than it should have been, like it had stained Cas’ skin. Like part of whatever spell it was had been designed to keep the blood there. 

After the panic to find him, the worry when he’d had to watch Cas suffer through a screen, the effort to clean him up, Dean was just numb. Even the Mark was quiet. Quieter than normal, anyway. Like it had seen enough blood just for now. 

Dean unpacked the groceries, relieved that the others left him to it. When he was done, he took a moment, leaning against the kitchen counter with his palms pressed flat to the worktop, his shoulder hunched and head bowed. He just needed a moment. One moment. Then he’d go back out there and try to come up with some plan. Maybe they’d get a line to that angel Cas had taken off with. Hannah. See if she’d come and help. Maybe this time she wouldn’t want Cas to kill Dean. 

If it meant getting Cas back on his feet, Dean might agree to that deal, right now.

“Dean!”

Sam’s voice reached him from the main room. Dean was back through the door and staring down at Cas almost before the echoes of his name faded away. 

Sam crouched over Cas, a hand on each of the angel’s wrists, holding him down. Cas was shifting, writhing and bucking, looking like he was trying to throw Sam off. His eyes were wide open and glazed. Dean had no idea if Cas even knew where he was.

“Dean, help me!”

Dean threw himself at the pair on the mattress, grabbing at Cas’ legs and holding him down whilst Sam forced Cas’ arms down to the side, slowly making headway against a being who should have been able to throw them both off without a struggle. 

“Are we meant to be holding him down when he has a fit?” Dean asked, sure he’d read something about that being the wrong thing to do.

“It’s not that kind of fit, Dean,” Sam said. “He was trying to get at his back.”

Dean’s own eyes widened, and he darted a look at Cas’ hands. One of them had dark red patches on three of the fingers. Bile rose in his throat.

“He dug his fingers into that wound? Why?”

“Beats me,” Sam said. “Didn’t seem like a good idea, though.”

Without warning, Cas went still, all of the fight leaving him. Dean almost fell forwards at the sudden lack of resistance. Panting, he sat back, watching as Sam did the same, both of them holding their hands out in case they needed to dive back in. 

In the background, Dean could hear Charlie moving about, probably not sure what to do with herself. He ignored her. On the mattress, Cas was quiet, his breathing still pained, his eyes still open. Dean thought they were less glazed than they had been.

“Cas?” he asked, shuffling up to the head of the mattress and leaning over to catch Cas’ eyes. 

The angel’s eyes moved, latching onto Dean and tracking his movements. A thin, creased line appeared on his forehead.

“Dean?” he asked, his voice raspy and thin. He’d probably torn his throat up with all that screaming, and if he wasn’t healing like normal… 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, a smile creeping around the edges of his lips, despite everything. If Cas was awake, that had to mean something, right? “I’m right here. We’re at the bunker. You’re safe. Just got to get you healed up.”

He shared a glance with Sam, noting the relief in his brother’s eyes. If Cas was awake, that was half the battle. Right? 

“Dean.” 

At Cas’ voice, Dean looked back down at his friend and let himself smile more fully. 

“Yeah, Cas. Just stay calm, all right? Let yourself heal. You’ve lost a lot of blood there, buddy, and grace. Not sure how much you have left.”

Cas didn’t seem to hear. The look in his eyes was panicked. Frantic. Maybe he hadn’t taken in what Dean had said about being back at the bunker. With a surge of effort, one of Cas’ hands shot up towards Dean, and Dean caught it. It ended up in an awkward holding of hands, both of Dean’s wrapped around Cas’, tension thrumming through from the angel’s skin. Whatever the problem was, Cas was really wound up. 

“Hey,” Dean tried again. “Hey, Cas, you’re safe, I said. Calm down, now.”

Calming down seemed to be out of the equation. Cas tried to look around, his movements weak as he turned his head on the pillow, and Dean held onto his hand, finding himself stroking Cas’ knuckles in an effort to bring him some peace. The glassy look had faded from Cas’ eyes, but he still didn’t seem to really know where he was or, if he did, he wasn’t happy about it. He started muttering under his breath, and Dean had to lean down to hear what he was saying.

“No. No. Should have left. Not here. No.”

Sam had leaned down, too, and they looked at each other, Sam’s face betraying exactly the same confusion Dean felt.

“What’s up with him?” Sam asked, like Dean would have any better idea than Sam did.

“What am I, the angel whisperer?” Dean hissed. He glared at the look on Sam’s face which said, well, yeah. Out of the two of them. “I’ve got no idea. He’s just been tortured, Sam. His head’s not on right.”

“He sounds like he doesn’t want to be here,” Sam pointed out, as if Dean could have missed that.

Cas’ voice grew louder, rising almost to a normal level, and Dean had to grip at his hand to keep it from flailing. Sam grabbed at the other one, copying Dean in stroking at Cas’ skin, as though the angel was a skittish animal who just needed soothing. 

“Should have left. Should have left me there. Not here.”

That niggling thought at the back of Dean’s mind solidified, and he opened his mouth just as Sam spoke up, voicing the same thought.

“I think he’s saying we shouldn’t have rescued him. Dean, did it all seem too easy to you, getting in and out of that place?”

“You mean,” Dean said slowly, trying not to wince at the panic in Cas’ voice, the fear, “was it a trap?”

The minute it was out in the open, it seemed all too possible, not that Dean could imagine why that woman would want a severely injured angel at the bunker. Maybe she’d wanted to slow them all down. Maybe this had all been some distraction. 

Whatever it was, they had to get Cas calm and they had to get him properly lucid. If this was a trap, it was even more reason to have him back on his feet by the time its jaws closed.


	7. Breathing Space

Dean peered into his mug of coffee, willing it to do some good and wake him up. Through the doorway into the kitchen, he could hear Charlie moving around, making something she’d said would be an awesome pick-me-up for breakfast. He tried to block the noise out. Coffee was more than he could manage just now.

It had been deep into the night by the time they’d got Cas calmed down enough to sleep. Not that an angel should be sleeping. That in itself was enough to mess with any chance Dean had of getting a proper rest. The guy had clearly been in no fit state to be awake, though. Once he’d stopped with the muttering, with the protests that they should have left him, he’d gone radio silent, but his eyes had darted around like he was waiting for an attack. They’d gone pretty much everywhere but to Dean. No matter how hard Dean had tried to catch Cas’ eyes, they’d slid away and settled, briefly, on something else.

That shouldn’t have upset him as much as it did. It shouldn’t have been nearly as bad as seeing Cas in the state he was in.

Now that Cas was settled, as much as they could get him to settle, in one of the bunker’s bedrooms, Sam having declared any chances of healing better if Cas wasn’t getting so worked up by too much going on around him, Dean’s mind had taken to circling round everything that had happened in the past couple of days. 

For the life of him, he couldn’t wrap his head around what that woman was up to. 

She’d said she knew a secret Cas had been hanging on to. She’d said she knew why Cas couldn’t stay dead. She’d promised to kill him and called it a mercy. And then Dean and Sam and Charlie had been able to waltz in and take the angel with no fight at all.

Fine. OK. Waltz might be making too much of it. There’d been locks and sigils. 

It had still been too easy.

But it didn’t make any sense, her wanting Cas back at the bunker. What, was she going to break in here and kill him? 

That thought had been enough to have Dean back out of bed only an hour after climbing into it, alert to any sound that might mean she was here to finish what she’d started. 

“You get any sleep?” Sam asked, shuffling into the room looking about as with it as Dean felt. His hair was falling over his face and the circles under his eyes were dark and strained. Cas being in the state he was in wasn’t easy on either of them.

“Some,” Dean lied. He didn’t have time for a lecture from Sam right now. Or worse, concern. They needed all of that for Cas. “I’ve been trying to work out what the gameplan is, if she really let us take him. I can’t work out why it’d help her. If she wants him dead, why not kill him before we could get there.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said, pulling out a chair and wincing as it scraped along the floor with a grating noise. Looked like Sam hadn’t had enough sleep to be putting up with any harsh noises, either. He dropped into the chair with a grunt and leaned forwards, propping his head up with his hands, elbows resting on the table. “I know we didn’t have to fight her to get Cas out, but it wasn’t exactly simple. That hook-”

“I know,” Dean said, cutting his brother off before any more than fleeting images of that…that could swim up to the forefront of his mind.

Sam paused a moment, staring at Dean, a knowing look in his eyes.

“Right,” Sam said, his tone telling Dean it was being dropped for now, “but my point is, maybe it wasn’t easy. Maybe it’s not any sort of trap. Cas has just been through a trauma, right? And he’s not exactly a stranger to being betrayed by people he thought he could trust, let alone strangers who’ve nabbed him and,” he paused again, briefly, his eyes still on Dean, “treated him like she did, so maybe it’s a reaction to that.”

“What, you think Cas is paranoid?” Dean asked. 

Sam shrugged. “He’s got reason to be, don’t you think? He trusted Metatron, and look what happened. Must be hard to believe he’s safe after what he just went through. Could all be piling up in his head.”

Metatron. And didn’t that just make Dean remember what that woman had said about Cas’ wings. Another thought he didn’t have the energy for right now. Sitting back, Dean lifted his mug and swallowed down his coffee before angling the empty mug at Sam.

“You want some?” he asked. 

“I’ll get it,” Sam said, “You go check on Cas.”

Before Dean could argue, Sam had taken the mug and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen. Dean sighed, taking a moment to close his eyes and steel himself before he went to check on his friend. Last time Dean had checked on Cas, he’d been asleep, his skin feverish and his body twitching. 

The pile of books Sam had been trawling through still towered on the other end of the table and Dean wavered. There was nothing he could do for Cas right now. Checking on him…what was that gonna do? Cas wouldn’t even look at him when he was awake. Might be better to spend his time wading through more research, seeing if he could work out why the grace was still seeping through those cuts on his body, how he’d been bleeding for so long without running out of the stuff. They’d tried bandages at some point in the night, but the things had been stained red within an hour. It seemed to bleed less when they left it uncovered, like the wounds had a purpose and that purpose was to be seen, to be noticed. 

Perhaps he’d just check that Cas hadn’t started bleeding more, then get down to some reading. 

The room they’d put the angel in was dim, with only one lamp washing one side of the room a warm yellow. On the bed, Cas’ dark hair stood out against the pillow, almost startling against the paleness of his skin. Which was all shades of wrong. Cas wasn’t some pale, sickly thing. He was strength and purpose and his skin had always been kind of…golden. Tanned. Whatever. It wasn’t like Dean had noticed, really, but it was more proof Cas was seriously fucked up right now. 

Sam had clearly plonked a chair right by the bed when he’d taken a turn watching Cas, and Dean sagged into and rubbed a hand over his face. 

“Come on, Cas,” he muttered, not really expecting a reply. “You gotta pull through this and then we’ll go gank the-”

“Dean.” Cas’ eyes opened, slowly, as though it pained him, but they opened. He still didn’t look at Dean, but he looked near him, maybe at his shoulder. It was better than nothing. “Dean, I…”

Dean leaned forwards, reaching out and taking hold of one of Cas’ hands. It had seemed to help ground the angel last night, so screw it. Anything that helped came under the heading of medical care, right? 

Now, it brought Cas to a stuttering halt for a few shallow, laboured breaths. His eyes shut and opened again, eyes that should have been brighter and sharper than they were. 

“I’m not gonna ‘pull through’,” Cas said, fighting to talk normally, by the sounds of things, despite the strain in his voice.

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Dean ordered. 

A shudder rippled through Cas, faint enough Dean might have missed it if he’d not had hold of his friend’s hand. Cas seemed to ignore it, getting closer than he had all night to meeting Dean’s eyes. 

“Please,” he said, and it broke Dean’s heart to hear how broken he sounded. How pained. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

Hot anger sparked through Dean, flaring up white and burning, the Mark thudding. He clamped down on it, but something of it vibrated through his voice when he spoke. 

“I don’t blame me, Cas. I blame that dick who strapped you to a chair and did this to you. You hear me? She’s the one to blame and she’s the one I’ll take it out on. You just wait until I get a hold of her.”

“No!” Cas started partly upright, gasping with what sounded like mingled shock and horror. “No, you can’t. Don’t go near her, Dean.”

Well, that was… Yeah. That was odd. 

“Sorry, Cas. She did this to my friend, she dies. Plain and simple.”

Only it wasn’t going to be simple. And it wasn’t going to be quick. Dean had a chair of his own he could strap people into, and unlike Cas she had it coming. The angel didn’t need to know that, though. He’d never liked it when Dean took up the knife in that way. 

“No,” Cas muttered, already fainter than he had been. “Not…not what I…”

But he sank back into unconsciousness before he could get out what he wanted to say. Cas was probably still worked up at the idea of it being a trap, thought he was protecting Dean by making him stay away from her. Typical Cas. As though anything could stop Dean from tracking down and ending that miserable, vindictive-

“Hey,” Sam’s voice cut in, and Dean looked up to see his brother in the doorway, a mug in each hand. “How’s he doing?”

“About the same. Worked up that I might get near her. Trying to keep everyone safe but himself.”

Sam grunted and came into the room, handing Dean his mug and pulling up another chair. The two of them sat for a while in near silence, only Cas’ breathing filling the room, and in some odd way it was almost peaceful. For a Winchester, anyway. Dean would dearly love some down time with Cas that didn’t involve one of them being beaten up. If Cas would wake up enough to tell them who’d taken him, what she was, then they could get a plan together. Perhaps make her tell them how to heal Cas up. She’d spoken like she could keep him alive, like she could choose when Cas died, so it wasn’t such a stretch to think she knew how to fix him, too. Maybe. Had to be worth a shot.

It could be one of the many things they talked about when Dean had her in the dungeon. 

It must have been half an hour later, the last dregs of the coffee cold against his lips, when Cas stirred again. Both brothers sat forwards, sharing a quick, worried glance as the angel moved restlessly. A few moments later, his eyes slid open again, latching on to Sam almost at once.

“Sam,” he said, sounding oddly surprised to see the younger Winchester. “You’re here.”

“Er, yeah, Cas,” Sam said, shooting a look at Dean, who shrugged. Where else would Sam be? “How you feeling?”

“Sam, you can’t let her get to Dean,” Cas said, his words urgent. “Keep her away from him.”

At that, Sam got a pinched, concerned look on his face. Dean knew how he felt. Did Cas not realise Dean was right next to him? 

“It’s all right, Cas,” Sam said, his voice soothing, dropping into that way he had of placating someone who was out of it and just needed to be calmed. “She’s not here. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”

“Sam!” Quiet though he was, Cas’ voice still had an odd weight to it, a gravity that he’d never lost, even as a human. This was clearly important to him.

“Sam, just tell him what he wants to hear,” Dean snapped. Anything to get Cas settled again. He wasn’t going to heal if he was all worked up and agitated.

But his words had brought Cas, finally, to look at Dean. Dean almost flinched as Cas’ eyes met his. They were too close to the way Cas’ eyes had been other times, times when Cas as Dean knew him had been buried under layers of madness or programming, but with a heat burning in them that didn’t fit the way Naomi’s programming had taken him. 

“Don’t listen to her,” Cas said, “Don’t listen to anything she says. Promise me.”

This time, it was Sam who had to prompt Dean, nudging him and glaring until Dean shook himself and replied.

“Sure, Cas. Yeah. I mean, I won’t. I won’t listen to a word.”

Was that what Cas was worried about? Not that woman coming back and finishing him off, not even Dean or Sam being hurt the same way, but Dean listening to her? She’d said she knew Cas’ secret. Looked like there could be some truth to that after all.


	8. First Words

Shards scattered across the floor, the ringing sound of broken pottery loud in the early silence. Dean bit back a curse, crouching to pick up the pieces as soon as they settled. He couldn’t even get a cup of coffee without it going all to hell. 

“Dean?”

Sam appeared in the doorway, stopping when he saw Dean on the ground, hunting for bits of cup. 

“You want something, Sam?” Dean asked, grimacing at the tacky feeling of cooling coffee dregs against his palm where he’d collected a pile of fragments. “Kinda busy.”

“Er, yeah. I can see that,” Sam said, and that was his careful voice again, the one he’d been using ever since they’d got Cas back and more or less bedded down in the other room, the one that screamed Sam was worried something would set Dean off. “It’s just, I was on my way to get you when I heard the smash.”

Dean reached for another piece of cup before answering, and hissed, pulling his hand back. A fine line of red welled up on the meat of his hand. Damn thing was sharp. 

“What for?” he asked, giving up on the shards for now and rising to rinse his hand. “Charlie actually found something?”

“No.” Sam said the word like he was hoping Dean would miss it. “Not yet.”

“Not yet,” Dean scoffed, checking his hand to see if the blood was gone. Good to be able to wash some blood off completely. “It’s been three days, Sam. Thought Charlie was some hacker-genius. How can she have nothing?”

“I don’t know, Dean, but you know she’s doing her best.”

Guilt shot along the fracture lines in Dean’s heart, making him turn away from Sam and take his time drying his hands. Of course Charlie was doing the best she could. It was just… She’d been trying to find out who owned that house with the basement for days. It had taken her less time than that to break Roman Enterprises. Dean had turned up nothing on a creature with eyes like that thing had had, and Sam had hit a wall with the patterns she’d carved into Cas. They had zero leads that went anywhere, and Dean needed to get his hands on the woman who had taken Cas. Who’d taken him and…

“So if it’s not that, then what do you need me for?” he asked, turning back and fixing Sam with a look that said this had better be good. 

“I need you to help me with Cas.” 

“What? Why?”

Sam threw his hands out, a brief flash of irritated anger crossing his face.

“He says he needs to leave.”

Dean stared at Sam, feeling his eyebrows lift. 

“What? Like hell is he leaving. What the fuck is he saying that for?”

When his brother just shook his head and pulled a face that said he hadn’t got any sense out of the angel, Dean pushed past him out of the kitchen and headed towards Cas’ room. His friend had been in and out of it over the last few days, and whenever Dean caught him in a lucid phase it ended up with Cas insisting Dean stayed away from his captor, when he’d talk to Dean at all. It was ridiculous was what it was.

He was through the door before he’d got his brain lined up with his mouth enough to work out a decent way to phrase anything, and when he saw Cas sitting up, looking just as ragged and battered as he had been when they’d got him in here, even down to the light escaping from his chest along red and blue cracks in his skin, Dean gave up worrying about how he said anything.

“Keep your ass in that bed.” He pointed at Cas, keeping his finger aimed at his friend as he stalked closer. “You think you’re going to spring up and soldier your way through this one? You actually taken a second to check out the state you’re in?”

Cas stopped, his gaze heated under the dull pain that sat in his eyes all the time since they’d got him back. Just for a fraction of a second, Dean saw Cas’ expression properly, could read the frustration and something that looked a lot like fear, then it was gone as the angel dropped his eyes and turned his head away from the hunter. 

“And you can cut that out,” Dean said. He’d had enough. Being cooped up here with no headway was not a good look on him and the least Cas could do was keep up his end of the deal and not try to kill himself by leaping out of his sickbed. 

“Cut what out?” Cas asked, sounding sullen. 

At least he had a bit more fire in him than he’d had most of the last few days. He shouldn’t be tiring himself, though. Dean leaned over the bed and pushed Cas back down, a spark of satisfaction warming him at the shocked look on his friend’s face. He might think he was still an almighty warrior of God, but there was no way Dean was letting the bastard off himself in some misguided attempt to…to…

“What were you planning on doing, anyway?”

Flat on his back again, Cas was taking tight little breaths, and Dean felt that guilt flare up. The guy was hurt and being pushed around like that wouldn’t help. Had to be better than letting him try to wander off, though. 

Sighing, Dean sat down on the bed, feeling it dip under him, and set a hand on Cas’ shoulder. It got him no reaction except for a shift of the eyes, as though Cas wanted to look at Dean but was forcing himself not to. 

“What is it, man? Talk to me.” Dean had tried this already, at least three times, but it had to work eventually, right? Even someone as stubborn as Cas, and god could he be stubborn, had to cave at some point. And when he did, Dean would be there to hear what he had to say for himself. For one thing, he needed to know how Cas had got himself kidnapped. It might give them a clue. 

Silence stretched out. Dean’s fingers, resting on Cas’ bare shoulder, began to feel warm, sensitive, like too many of his nerves were clustered there. He was sitting here just…holding Cas, as if his friend was some kind of weird-ass security blanket or something. He firmed his jaw and stuck it out for a bit longer. With Cas, you sometimes had to make it clear you weren’t backing down. He could put up with a bit of awkwardness if it meant getting some answers. 

When Cas still wouldn’t turn to look at him, Dean found himself tracing down his friend’s body with his eyes, taking in the dip of his collarbone and the breadth of his chest. Didn’t matter that the dude was well built, much better than it looked when he was done up in his usual garb, he still looked tiny without a trench-coat. It wasn’t right, to see Cas looking so vulnerable. It wasn’t just the lack of clothing, either. Those lines of grace were a constant reminder that what had been keeping his friend alive was slowly draining out of him, making a light-show that had no right to look almost pretty. 

“What are these, anyway? These patterns? They mean anything?”

Sam had asked Cas as soon as they’d been able to keep him awake long enough to make sense, and he’d claimed they were nothing, just random cuts, but Dean had had the feeling that wasn’t the truth. Of course, with Cas refusing to meet his eyes no matter what he said, it was a bit hard to use the usual tells to check he wasn’t lying. Still, it’d all been too deliberate. There had to be something to it. 

“Yes.”

Dean’s gaze shot back up to Cas’ face, to see the angel still wasn’t looking at him. He was clearer than he’d been since he got back, though. And he’d answered the question. Finally.

“What? They do? So, what are they for? Tell me, Cas.”

Cas’ lips tightened, looking for all the world as though he was trying to keep the words in, but then he sighed and shut his eyes, speaking in a rough voice that had too much resignation in it for Dean’s liking.

“They’re keeping me alive.”

“They’re keeping you alive?” Dean asked, confusion creasing his brow. “She cut into you, more than once, to keep you alive? I’ve gotta say, that does not make the most sense.”

Again, Cas looked like he was struggling with himself before he spoke. Dean had the feeling that, if he’d been well enough, the angel would have upped and left instead of glaring weakly off into a corner of the room and letting an answer slip past his lips. 

“The exact pattern is keeping me alive. Part of it.”

“Part of it?” Dean looked at the cuts again, at the blood and light against skin, and felt a chill slither down his spine. Cas meant it. What kind of psycho went to the trouble of a spell to keep their victim alive? “Cas,” he asked, not too sure he really wanted to know, but needing to ask anyway, “what does the rest of it do?”

Cas’ hands on top of the covers clenched into something like fists, bunching up the fabric beneath his fingers. He looked around, from the corner to somewhere over Dean’s shoulder and then off to the side, but clearly couldn’t find anything to latch on to. 

“Cas,” Dean tried again, forcing his voice to be softer, more calming than he felt, “you gotta tell us, all right? It might help. Sam can’t find anything to help get rid of this…this pattern she’s cut into you, and it’s not healing. Like, at all. Even on a human, it’d be healing by now. Just, please, tell me what you know so we can help you.”

The angel’s eyes flickered round the room again, not settling anywhere for more than a few moments, and Dean felt like he was watching a trapped animal more than his friend. Dean made himself sit quietly and wait, his hand still touching Cas, grounding him. At least, he hoped it was a grounding touch and not a painful one. For the first two days it’d felt like only Cas’ hands were safe to touch wihtout hurting him, even though the wounds were on his torso and back. And his wrists. The bands of sore skin and cuts under those metal bands were unchanged. 

“All right, Cas, all right,” Dean said, when it became clear that Cas wasn’t going to answer the question. “Then tell me about these.” He moved his hand from Cas’ shoulder to his right wrist, tapping lightly at the band there. 

Cas hissed, jerking his hand away and looking at Dean as though he’d been hurt. Betrayed. 

“Don’t,” he said. 

Pulling his hand away from Cas, holding up both hands to show he was doing as he was told, Dean frowned. Felt like he’d been doing that a lot, lately.

“Right. Whatever you say. Just…why not? What are they? Does it hurt you when someone touches them?”

“They hurt all the time.”

The way he said it, he’d accepted it as fact. He wasn’t even trying to fight it.

“Then tell us how to get them off of you,” Dean said, only just managing to keep his words on the right side of snapping. 

“You can’t. They’re just…I just have to get used to them.”

Dean closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to calm the urge he felt to slam his fists into something. Into Cas. Damn Mark. It was just infuriating, trying to deal with someone who refused to open up and let his family help him. Dean had thought Cas’ had learned his lesson after that whole thing with swallowing souls, but the angel was definitely hiding something now and Sam hadn’t been able to pry it out of him. It grated that Dean wasn’t having any better luck. 

“Yeah. Sure. And how’s that going for you?”

He dropped his hand and glared at Cas, who had turned his head away. Dean couldn’t tell if the angel had closed his eyes, if he’d fallen asleep again. From the tension in his body, Dean didn’t think so. 

“Right. Guess I’ll just wait here, then,” Dean muttered, crossing his arms and pushing the chair back, propping his feet up on the edge of the bed. He was too jittery to go back and make more coffee now, anyway, and if Cas had got it into his head to leave, he wouldn’t stop at just one attempt. Which meant Dean and Sam pulling guard duty. Once he was settled, he checked on Cas again. Still turned away. “You feel like talking, I’ll be right here, ready to listen. Because this whole thing? You are not getting used to it. This is not it for you.”

Cas twitched at that, his fingers tensing and relaxing and the muscles in his arms tightening, just for long enough that Dean paused, considering. 

“That what you’re worrying about, Cas? That this is it? End of the line?” He felt something dark and intent crawl up the inside of his ribcage, relishing the way the angel went still, obviously caught by the questions. “You think you’re going to die before this is done? Or are you scared you won’t?”

That got a reaction. Cas turned his head and met Dean’s stare head-on, something of his usual intensity lurking at the back of his eyes. 

“I don’t want to die, Dean,” he said, his voice low, carving truth into the air.

“So you said when you were strapped to that chair,” Dean shot back, “Not what you’re making it look like, though.”

Cas’ lips parted, his eyes widening, and he started to speak twice before he got any words out, this time in a tone of quiet horror.

“You heard…? You heard that? How?”

“She had us watching it, Cas, on a monitor. She’d left it set up for us to find. She wanted us to see what she was doing to you.”

The angel blinked at him, frowning. He still looked bleary, obviously still in pain and weak, but he was more focused right now than he had been. Surprise could do that. 

“And you heard me,” he said, at last.

He seemed to be stuck on that. Dean would have thought seeing it would be worse than hearing it. He’d hate to have Sammy seeing him being cut into, not that the screaming would be something he’d be happy to share, but…

“What is it you’re hoping I didn’t hear?” he asked, working out why Cas was looking worried. “’Cos I’m pretty sure you’re all right with me knowing you want to live.”

Which really didn’t leave a lot. Still, he wanted to hear Cas say it, to know if he’d own up. If he’d tell Dean what that woman knew that Dean didn’t. 

The moment stretched out, frozen and heavy, and Dean felt a sense of teetering on the edge of something. The longer he waited, the more unbalanced he felt. Cas stared back at him and Dean honestly couldn’t tell which way it was going to go. Blinking, Cas dropped his eyes, and Dean knew the moment had passed.

“Nothing,” the angel said. “There’s nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Really? Doesn’t matter?” Dean said, finding it hard to keep his feet up and his arms crossed, playing pretend he wasn’t tight as a strung wire. “She knows why you don’t stay dead, and it’s nothing?”

Ah. That was it, all right. Cas had flinched before, jerked back when Dean had touched his wrist, but now he looked like he’d been struck.

“Don’t,” Cas whispered, hunching in on himself as much as he could when lying flat on his back. He had to be in pain, but he looked like he was considering making another attempt to get up and leave, to get away from this line of questioning. 

“Then give me something to work with, here. Give me a target, a way to help you. I’m going mad sitting here watching you suffer.”

“I…I don’t know how to stop this. I mean…I don’t know how we can.”

“So you know how someone can?” Dean asked, too experienced at interrogations to miss the difference in expression. 

“I’m not sure. Dean,” he said, an edge of pleading in his voice, “she said I knew her, but I don’t know where from. Naomi…she said she’d been in my head before. That she wiped me clean. If I knew that woman, it’s gone.”

Dean put that information aside for now. Cas had hinted at it before, but there’d always been so much going on. 

“Then what makes you think she knows how to stop it? You got any idea what all this is? Other than cutting you up’s somehow good for your health?”

Cas looked annoyed, which jarred with the pain and reluctance still on his face. Dean wondered when it was that his friend had started to show so much emotion. Before Purgatory? After? 

“I never said it was good for my health. I said it was keeping me alive. These wounds, they should be deadly. This much grace leaking out… I don’t have enough reserves to heal my vessel, and… Anyway. But this is creating a…a holding pattern, if you will. I don’t heal and I don’t die. It just…goes on.”

That much talking had clearly exhausted him, and he sagged back, that tension draining away to a tightness around his mouth, between his brows. He watched Dean, offering nothing more.

“Fuck,” Dean managed, after a pause that was too long. “She’d got you like this just to make you suffer more? Shit, Cas, how much pain are you in?”

Stupid question, maybe, but Cas had been banged up so many times, and he just kept going. Part of Dean, once the screaming had stopped, once they’d got him back here, had thought he had to be healing, even if they couldn’t see it. He had, at the very least, to be in less pain than when he had a hook through his back and a mad-woman using him as a carving block. The thought that Cas might have been lying here, in nearly as much pain as he had been in back in that basement, strapped to that chair, was too much. 

“It’s manageable,” Cas said, far more quietly than he had been speaking. Which wasn’t really an answer at all. He sighed. “There is one thing. Perhaps.” He stopped and Dean gestured for him to go on, trying not to grab Cas and shake any information out of him. “She wasn’t human.”

“Yeah, Cas, I got that from the weird eyes. Any idea what she was?”

“I think,” he said, sounding anything but certain, “that she was some sort of Nephilim. I don’t know. I couldn’t see clearly.” And Dean was sure Cas wasn’t talking about normal eyesight. “But there was grace, I think, of a sort.”

“Not a witch, then,” Dean said, oddly disturbed by the idea they were hunting a part-angel. The only Nephilim Cas had ever mentioned was the one he had killed, and he’d said she was the only one. Then again, if Naomi really had been messing with the guy’s head, it wasn’t that much of a stretch that she’d have mangled his memories of Nephilim. From the little Dean knew, Heaven hadn’t liked having the half-angels around. Made sense she’d want them kept under wraps even from their own warriors. 

“She was using spells. Very old spells. I just don’t recognise them properly. I didn’t always spend as much time around humans.”

Right. Yeah. Because Cas used to spend most of his time as a wavelength, or whatever, and he’d only got stuck in the mud with them since pulling Dean out of Hell. Now, he was stuck in a human body with, well, Dean had been calling them bracelets, but he had to face facts: they looked more like manacles. Not to mention the state Cas was in. 

“Right. Unknown possibly-Nephilim. Well, it’s more than we had to go on.”

That seemed to be all he was getting for now. His friend’s eyes became less and less clear, that edge of delirium creeping back in, and it was a relief when instead of rambling about not listening to his torturer his eyes slid shut. Dean waited until Cas was quiet and still, asleep, and he tried not to think what that usually meant for the angel, before going to tell Sam they were hunting some angel’s kid. Hopefully, now Cas had started talking, Dean would be able to get more out of him when he woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. I'm getting jittery about whether this is working. Let me know anything that works or so on. My early impetus is somewhat lessened by the start of the working week! I seem to be having a paranoid day. It's making me doubt the effectiveness of my writing again.


	9. Edge of the Pattern

Sam threw down his notebook and huffed, sliding a hand through his hair even though it didn’t need any attention. He sat with narrowed eyes as Dean watched him, noting the look in Sam’s eyes that said the cogs were turning, even if they didn’t have enough grease to let them work easily. 

They’d been back at the research for hours, one or the other of them going to check on Cas every so often. He’d woken up a few times and seemed, even with the injuries on his front and wrists looking almost the same as they had been, to be a fraction better. Sam had promised Cas could try getting up the next time he woke, just to come and lie on a couch out in the living areas for a while. Dean was still quietly fuming over that. 

One, Cas wasn’t well enough to be out of bed, even if he was waking up clearer headed. He was still sleeping, which was not a good sign, and he was obviously still in a lot of pain. Two, and he hated thinking like this, but ignoring his instincts was never a good idea, the angel was still a flight risk. He’d told Dean the woman’s species, but he was still not being open and honest about everything. He’d managed to keep his mouth shut about what exactly she’d done to him before the Winchesters had made it to that monitor and Dean had the cold, sneaking feeling that something important had gone down. So, yeah, leave it to Cas to be practically tenderised meat and still make Dean worry that he might bolt. It was just, he could all too easily imagine his friend lying in a ditch somewhere, shaking and struggling to breath, just because he thought he was putting Sam and Dean in danger by staying. 

If Sam had anything new to add to the pile of jumbled thoughts in Dean’s head, then great. He could start with explaining why he thought he could give Cas permission to leave his room.

“You got anything, or is your digestion playing up again?” Dean asked, when the niggling feeling of waiting got to be too much like putting up with ants crawling over his skin. On the inside. 

Sam shot him an irritated look, but let the comment slide. 

“That image you found, the one that reminded you of the pattern,” Sam said, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that Sam referred to it like it was some innocent thing drawn on paper, “I’ve been looking into your idea it’s linked to that culture, but I can only find the odd mention here and there. It’s scattered through books on cultures all the way back to the dawn of writing, but none of the people writing, even if it’s from a translation of a clay tablet from way back, have a clear line on what this place is. Or where. It’s always described in these really vague terms.”

Dean nodded to show he was keeping up, but so far Sam had said nothing to help. So what if a bunch of old countries had been hazy on where some other country was?

“But look,” and here Sam span one of the books around and slid it across the table to Dean, who glanced down to see a drawing of two figures with what looked like rays of light surrounding them. “The writing they translated here says it’s from some culture near the Valley of Death.” He tapped the picture, his finger hitting the taller figure in the face. “Valley of Death, Peak of Morning, in the light of the Dawn Hope…these are all the kind of phrases I keep reading about whenever I find a reference to the people who drew that pattern you found.”

“What, are they the ancient keepers of crap poetry?” Dean asked. 

“It’s the kind of thing that gets written down when you don’t have the right name and can’t risk offending someone powerful,” Sam corrected.

“Sammy, your Stanford is showing,” Dean countered, but he could feel there was no real humour in his words. 

In any case, Sam ignored him. Again. He was really focused on this.

“The point is, these people, far as I can tell from the little bits and pieces that have been recorded, are the closest we’ve found to a pattern like the one she used on Cas. If we can get hold of a book or something that actually comes from there, we might be able to crack this.”

“That’s all?” Dean asked, the itching feeling in his skin getting worse as he took in what Sam was really saying. “We just have to find a book written by a bunch of ages-old people who were so mysterious that the people who knew them didn’t even know their name or where they really lived? And then hope the book we find happens to include a ‘how to’ guide for unpicking some messed-up spell even Cas has never seen before? That what you’re saying?”

This time, Sam glared back, his words tight.

“Look, Dean, it’s better than we had, all right? And it’s all I’ve got.” 

The fight went out of him at that last bit. He looked just as weary and worn out as Dean felt, when he let himself think about it for more than a moment. 

“I know,” Dean said. “I know. It sucks.” He glanced down at the book again. “If this really is all we’ve got, then pass me a pile. We’ll scour back through them all.”

His brother didn’t push any over to him, though. Instead, he grimaced and shook his head.

“No point. I already went through everything twice. But there’s text here that I can’t translate, from a tablet the author thinks is connected to these people, whoever they are.”

“Any idea what language it’s in?” 

“None,” Sam said, “but I’m thinking that’s not a problem.”

It took Dean a moment to work out what Sam was getting at. 

“What, Cas? Sam, dude’s not well. He can’t be playing professor.”

“Come on, Dean. It’s a bit of reading. A couple of photos in a book. He wants to get out of bed and be useful, you know he does. This is Cas we’re talking about. When has he ever been all right with sitting things out?”

“When has that ever ended well for him?” Dean shot back.

Shrugging, Sam pushed his chair back and stood up, looking down at Dean with a set to his mouth that stated clearly he was going to do what he thought was right.

“It’s not exactly going well for him anyway. We might as well try it.”

Without giving Dean the chance to argue, Sam left the room in the direction of the bedrooms and Dean was left scowling at the piles of books. He found himself tapping a finger against the picture, staring at the light surrounding the figures. Some sort of magic, perhaps. Or fire. It’d be just perfect if it turned out this civilisation they were chasing had been made up of demons. 

Footsteps moving quickly down the corridor brought his head up in time to see Sam barrel into the room, a frantic light in his eyes. Dean was on his feet before his brother came to a halt.

“What is it? He worse?” His words came out gruff and clipped. 

“No,” Sam said. “He’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just make all of my titles up as I post stuff. You can tell, can't you?
> 
> Not a long one tonight. I really want to get the actual plot moving at some point this year.


	10. Hooked

The bed was empty.

Rumpled sheets and a blanket rucked up at the foot of the bed shouldn’t need checking, but Dean peered at them anyway, wincing at the blood-stains where Cas’ wrists and back had been. Not too bad. They’d stitched and bandaged and done whatever they could think to do to help, but it was bad enough they hadn’t been able to entirely stop the blood leaking onto the bedding. 

The empty bedding.

“How’d he leave without us hearing him?” Dean asked.

Next to him, Sam shook his head, not bothering to reply. It wasn’t like he’d have any answers. Cas had barely been able to sit up, his attempt to move before far too easily thwarted for the angel to be up to really making a run for it. Dean shouldn’t even be in here, checking for himself that Cas was gone. What had he expected to find? That Sam had somehow missed the guy in a room this size? 

“We gotta find him. Come on.” 

Dean issued the order as he turned, his shoulders tight with tension. Sam fell into step as they made their way back to the main rooms, looking as worried as Dean felt. Maybe not as angry. 

Damn angel and his stubborn ideas.

“Inside or out?” Sam asked.

“Out,” said Dean. “I’ll check outside. You sweep in here. We can get him back in that bed and he can stay there, long as he hasn’t bled out somewhere.” No. No, Cas had said that carving would keep him in a holding pattern. “Call if you find him.”

Sam nodded, holding up his phone as though to reassure Dean he had it. 

As soon as Dean reached the top of the stairs to the outer door, his boots ringing on the metal steps, he knew Sam was going to find nothing. The door was open. Just a crack. Just enough to let one tired body slide through. Cursing, Dean shoved the door wider and shot out into a bright, chill morning. He hadn’t even realised it was morning again. 

There was no Cas on the track outside, but there was a patch of something dark right outside the door. Blood. Just a drop, but it was glaring against the grey, screaming at Dean that Cas had headed to the left. Whatever that spell was the Nephilim had carved into Cas, it was doing more than keeping him alive. It had to be generating blood. People did not have as much in them as Cas had bled out over the last few days. With his grace so weak, it had to be making him dizzy. He could hit his head or break a bone, something to add to the long list of injuries he was already fighting with. 

How much of a head start could he have? Dean struggled to remember when he’d last checked on Cas. Or had Sam gone in most recently? No. He was pretty sure it had been him, sticking his head round the door and watching to see if his friend was shivering or twitching, both things he’d worked out meant Cas’ pain levels were spiking. Not that there was much he could do about it, but he still felt he ought to know, at least. 

It had to be at least a couple of hours. Maybe more. He’d started in on that book of Lithuanian spells that had turned out to have nothing in it that could help. It was a big book. God, had he been reading a book that was no use at all to them as Cas had dragged his sorry, bleeding ass out into the night? It could only have been light for a bit.

Tracking the odd blood-splash and scuff marks in the gravel that he hoped had been made by Cas, Dean followed Cas. Hopefully. The crack-crunch of gravel under his boots was loud. Too loud. It echoed like a gun-shot with each step, the still, thin air around him sucking at any other noise so all he could hear was that crunch, crunch, crunch. 

And the drum of the Mark. Always that.

When Charlie had taken off a day or two earlier, hot on the trail of someone she swore would have more luck with magical wireless than she’s had, her car had left deep grooves in the track: cuts that hadn’t yet softened. In one of the cuts, Dean spotted something that looked out of place. Crouching, he reached out and trailed a finger along the edge of a feather, huge and black, that didn’t look like it came from any bird Dean knew of. The wild idea ran through his head that this was Cas’, but he told himself he was being crazy. Cas had never gone about scattering actual feathers before, and he’d lost his wings. Hadn’t he?

What was it that woman had said? Something about seeing what was left of them? 

His mouth setting in a firm line, Dean lifted the feather and held it as though it was some sort of weapon. He couldn’t have told you what he thought it might defend him from.

The buzz of his phone interrupted the crunch of his footsteps before he’d gone more than five minutes further, and he kept walking as he answered, unsurprised to hear that Sam hadn’t found the angel.

“Yeah. Pretty sure he’s out here,” he said, his voice hushed. He couldn’t have said why. “Found blood and tracks. I think. And…” He paused. It sounded stupid, but any clue might help in this whole mess. “And I found a feather.”

Silence on the other end told him Sam was having to process that. Dean made it a few steps further before his brother answered.

“And you, what, think it’s Cas’? Does he even have actual feathers?”

“Like we haven’t seen angel feathers used in spells?” Dean said.

“Yeah, but I thought he’d…you know…” Sam trailed off, like even with all the truly mind-fucking stuff they’d seen, he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.

“Lost his wings?” Dean filled in for him. “Yeah. I know. Maybe more damaged than gone, though.”

Which still begged the question, why hadn’t they seen any feathers lying around before. Cas had been hopped up on stolen grace for months, had been without the use of his wings for even longer, but this was the fist one Dean had found. 

A break in the trees just up ahead to the left pushed the feather from the front of his mind. Looked like someone had pushed through and broken a branch. 

“He’s gone off into the woods, Sam,” Dean said, “Call you when I find him.”

When. Not if. Couldn’t let himself think about if. 

He didn’t hear whether Sam said anything else, ending the call and leaving the gravel track for the rutted mud in between the trees. Cool damp surrounded him as he stepped under the trees, the sense of it seeping into his clothes and the earthy mulch filling his nostrils. This was no place for someone with open wounds.

It was harder to track Cas when the path widened, the mud here having dried out to solid earth. Dean bit out curses when the trail broke into two, running his hand through his hair as he turned first one way and then the other. Maybe he should call Sam to come and try one way. It didn’t matter that Cas could have been out here hours already. That itching under Dean’s skin was crawling across his bones again and he felt the ticking of time, counting down in his head. He needed to find Cas now.

There.

In a patch of shadow under a gnarled tree, the ground was still damp, the earth still more mud than anything, and there was a footprint. Not a boot. A foot.

“You fucking…” Dean snapped his mouth shut and took a steadying breath through his nose. Cas hadn’t even stopped to put on boots. It was like the guy wanted to make himself worse. Like he wanted to push Dean over the edge.

At least it was a direction. He walked faster, checking for signs his friend had plunged off into the thickets to the side, but covering ground as quickly as he could without missing anything. He was getting close to a run when sunlight hit him square in the face, blinding him.

Blinking, he raised a hand to shield his eyes, squinting in the glow until his eyes adjusted enough to get his vision back. 

He was in a clearing, the trees pushed back into a wide ring around a patch of scraggly grass studded with wild-flowers. It was peaceful. Would have been peaceful, except for the bundle of flesh and blood in the middle of it. 

“Cas!”

Dean was by Cas’ side and on his knees, grass and mud staining his jeans, before his shout echoed into silence. Cas was on his side, curled up with his hands in tight fists in front of his face. Hand that were smeared with the brown-red of dried blood. He didn’t move, not even when Dean reached out a hand and touched his shoulder, but he was shivering violently.

The marks on Cas’ front were unchanged, rivulets of blood trickling down to the grass, but they didn’t look like Cas had rubbed his hands over them. That left his back.

Not wanting to pull Cas about until he’d worked out what he was dealing with, Dean stood to a half-crouch and circled his friend, dread crawling up his throat, irrational and cold. 

As soon as he saw Cas’ shoulders, his upper back, Dean felt a low, strangled noise rip its way out of his mouth. That hook had bitten deep, and Dean’s knife hadn’t made it any better, but they’d padded the wound, dressed it. Out of sight, kinda of out mind. Dean had been able to kid himself it was healing. All of that was gone.

Cas had pulled everything off, leaving the gash open to the air, and around it, covering his skin, were blood-marks, messy and coated on top of each other. It looked like he’d been trying to get at something, over and over again. Why hadn’t he just asked? If the dressing was making it worse, why hadn’t he said?

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, his words hot and heavy as they left his mouth. His eyes pricked with tears. This was not how the story was meant to go.

He crouched, ghosting a hand over the wound, trying to get a proper sense of it. The blood made it worse than it was. At least, he thought it did. Maybe it hid the thing, made it easy to pretend it wasn’t as bad as it looked. 

As though he could sense it, could feel Dean’s hand inches away from the wound, Cas gasped, his hands uncurling and slapping into the earth, pushing his head and shoulders off the ground with a cry. 

“Hey! Hey, buddy, calm down,” Dean said, lifting his hands to his own shoulder-height. “I’ll stop. I’ve stopped. Cas?”

Cas had stalled, his upper body propped up on shaking arms, still twisted sideways, but he wasn’t looking at Dean. That glazed look was in his eyes, the one that said his mind was on a different wavelength. 

“Cas, come one. Come back to me, man.”

He tried reaching out again, avoiding Cas’ back and brushing a hand against Cas’ shoulder, where he’d touched him before, back in the bed. The angel locked up, the sudden sense he was focused entirely on Dean’s hand unnerving. They hung in the moment, neither one shifting to change it, until Cas’ deep voice broke the quiet.

“They hurt.”

He sounded desperate, desperate the way he’d been when he’d talked about saving other angels or finding a way to fix Heaven. Desperate like he’d been back in that room when he’d said he couldn’t return to Heaven for fear of seeing what he’d done there. 

“What do, Cas? The cuts? They’ll do that. We gotta get them cleaned back up.” 

Dean felt his own voice grow rougher as he spoke and Cas wavered in front of him as the tears made a break for it. Seeing the angel like this was all kinds of wrong.

“No. No.” 

Cas shook his head, his denial ragged. 

“Not the cuts?” Dean’s gaze flickered to the hole in Cas’ back. Cas was probably thinking of that one as different. He hadn’t said it was part of the spell. And then there were the bands round his wrists. “What hurts, Cas? Tell me. You have to tell me what you’re keeping from me. I’m not a mind-reader.”

The angel breathed in, something that sounded like a sob mixed in with the action. And that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. His eyes closed, the lines around them etched more deeply than they had been. When he answered, it was in a smaller voice, one that made Dean want to wrap the guy up safe, if only he could find a way to do that.

“My…wings.” He said, the words clearly a struggle, and Dean couldn’t tell if it was because the pain was making speech difficult or if the words themselves were the issue. Cas had never seemed comfortable talking about his wings. “That hook…she…it dug right into the base of my wings…what was left of them.”

Shit. Dean felt his jaw tighten at the thought, but he clung to finding something to say to ease Cas’ distress.

“I cut it out, Cas. Remember? It’s not there now.”

This time, he heard Cas’ breath hitch as he spoke, and his words were even fainter, like he didn’t want to say them at all but had no choice.

“Feels like it’s still there.”

Dean had no response to that. It wasn’t like pulling a spike out of someone would make the pain end, but he’d thought it had to be better than the guy still having it shoved into his back. Every time he thought he’d worked out how crappy this way for Cas, it got a bit worse.

“So, that some reason to run off on me?” he asked, striving not to let the anger that was pulsing through him spill into his voice. He had the feeling he was failing at that. He wasn’t sure the anger was fueled by Cas running off, anyway, or by his own total failure to help. 

“I just need…I can’t…”

“What? What do you need? What is it you ‘can’t’? Cas, you gotta talk to me. This is killing me, man, even if it can’t kill you.”

And Dean had his doubts about that, right in this moment.

Cas winced. Again. It was something Dean was seeing far too much of lately, like the angel was half-afraid of Dean, like Dean had some power over him that just caused pain. That kind of thinking wasn’t going to help. He dropped his head, shutting his eyes to block out the wound and the shivering of his friend, and the thin, glaring sunlight. It was all pulling the pounding of the Mark up into his temples, making it harder to think. 

“All right,” he said, after a few moments. “All right, so we gotta get you back to the bunker, and then, when you’ve rested up a bit, you’re gonna tell me exactly what that hook has done to you. You hear me?” He barely paused to see if Cas reacted. “But you are not going to run off again. For once in your life, you are going to stay put when I tell you to.”

“You told me…to have…free will,” Cas gritted out, through what seemed like another spike of pain, if the shuddering of his torso was anything to go by. 

Which…not relevant right now. Dean would have marvelled at how off point the angel could be, but now was not the time to get into it. 

“Not right now, you don’t,” he said, making no attempt to hide the fact this was a command. His dad would be proud. “You don’t get a say. Not while you’re like this. You are going to lie still and keep hold of your strength.”

“Of course,” Cas said.

And collapsed.

One moment, he was fighting to keep his upper body off the ground and the next he was in a heap, wild-flowers crushed under his cheek. Lunging forwards, Dean tried to catch him, but the angel had been too close to the ground to be caught. His eyes were closed and he seemed out of it. 

With a muttered prayer to Cas himself to hold on, Dean rang Sam. He wasn’t sure he could get Cas back to the bunker on his own, not with the state the guy was in. And this time, they were going to leave Cas on his stomach. Looked like the cuts for the spell were nothing compared to whatever that hook had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going somewhere, I promise. It might just be taking a journey through every head-cannon and random idea I have ever had.


	11. Line

The look in Sam’s eyes when he’d seen Cas lying in that clearing had been enough to crank Dean’s agitation up to bourbon-necessary levels, but they’d had to get their friend back home and tucked safely into bed first. Sam had changed the sheets while Dean had been out searching for Cas, and Dean recognised the restless need to have been doing something as a sign Sam was finding this just as hard as Dean was. 

They’d not talked about the state of Cas’ back, but their eyes had met at one point, as they’d checked the angel was settled, and it had been easy to read the fear in his brother’s gaze. More and more, Dean was hoping that Nephilim knew how to cast her spells, because there was no way something even vaguely human would be able to survive these injuries much longer. 

Out in the corridor, with the door shut but neither one of them making to move away from it, the Winchesters shared one of those moments when they had to face it was going to shit. Sam ran both of his hands through his hair, stopping with his fingers wound on top of his head, his elbows sticking out above him, and levelled a look at Dean that was a step away from suggesting a demon-deal. Not that either one of them would go there, not again. Not that Cas would let them.

“I don’t know,” Dean said, before Sam could ask. “He said that hook hurt his wings, but… Did you even know he still had wings?”

The look on Sam’s face made that answer clear.

“Damned angel and his secrets,” Dean muttered, turning and leaning against the wall next to the door. The flat surface was cold against his shoulder-blades. He wondered what it must have felt like, to have been forced back into that chair and… “We have to find that woman and we have to get Cas talking about his wings. I found a feather, Sammy. A feather. I don’t think this is some heavenly metaphor thing we’re dealing with. I think he really has actual wings. What’s left of them. Beats me why we’ve not seen them.”

Images of dark shadows swarmed across his mind, but he’d always sort of assumed that was some Cas version of making himself big, just a trick to play into people’s expectations. He’d never really factored in the angel feathers Henry Winchester had used. 

“Who knows?” Sam answered, releasing his death-grip on his hair and letting his hands drop to his sides. “Angels, man. They’re…not good at opening up. I have some,” and he lifted one hand to gesture at his forehead, “memories, I guess, from Gadreel, and I’m pretty sure his wings weren’t entirely gone. I get a sense of them being pretty banged up, though. Ragged. Painful. He just ignored them, mostly.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Angels seem a bit too good at ignoring things they don’t want to deal with. Right up until it gets them dead.” And to be honest, with Cas, sometimes after.

“Well, we can’t do much more than we were doing until he wakes up and can tell us more. I’m going to go check in with Charlie, see if she’s had any luck, and get back to the books.”

Dean nodded and watched Sam walk off. Neither one of them had mentioned what Dean was going to do. Must have been obvious. With a weight in his heart, he opened the door and slipped back inside Cas’ room to watch over him.

 

****************

 

Cas was refusing to talk to him. He’d opened his eyes, narrowing them in a way that suggested a serious head-ache, sometime around mid-morning of the next day, but as soon as Dean had tried to speak to him, he’d closed his eyes again and turned his head so he was facing the other side of the room. From the brief glimpse Dean had got before his friend’s face vanished from view, the guy was even more miserable than he’d been. Maybe he’d been counting on making his escape.

Screw that. Cas was going nowhere until they found a way to fix this. He could sulk all he liked.

Deciding to let the angel be sullenly silent for a while longer, Dean took the chance now Cas was awake to check on his injuries. He couldn’t see the ones on Cas’ torso, but the wrists looked like the chafing was worse and the less said about the hole in his back the better. Anyone human would have been blacked out from the pain or in such a state of shock their minds would have gone. Dean felt like he was pissing into the wind making the effort to clean the wound, and the way Cas tensed and hissed made Dean feel like crap, but he couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. 

“You gotta let me help you,” he said, his voice gruff even to his own ears. “You want this to stop? Then tell me what you know. Stop hiding stuff from me. We’ve a better chance of finding a fix for this if you open up and we work together. Tell me what happened to land you in that chair, Cas.”

At first, he thought Cas was going to keep giving him the silent treatment. Then he wished that was true.

“She drugged me. I don’t know how. One minute I was in a bakery, following a lead, and the next I was in that chair.” Cas’ voice was monotone, as if he needed some distance between himself and his own words. “I woke up after she’d strapped my wrists and ankles. Just before she pushed me back onto the hook. She got the placement just right. It dug into the base of my wings.” 

When Cas paused, the shivering in his body growing more severe, Dean almost told him to stop, but it had taken days, days and an escape attempt, for Cas to start talking and he didn’t dare do anything that might get the guy to clam up again.

“She said she used to know me. But you know that. You saw. You heard.” And he sounded as upset about that as he did about everything else. “But I had no memory of her. I could see what passed for her grace, but it wasn’t like the grace of the girl Metatron had me kill. This was stronger. More like fire than light. My mind must not have been clear. My memories are…hazy. I…I remember screaming. I remember the pain. And then you were there and we were here, and the pain hasn’t stopped.”

That last bit was said in a whisper and Dean wanted to gather Cas into a hug, squeeze the promise into him that they’d keep looking for a way to beat this. It’d be a kind of torture to hold Cas like that, though, even if they’d hugged a lot in the past. Which they hadn’t. It wasn’t like with Charlie, or even the way it had been with Kevin. With Cas, a hug felt…weighty. Like it really meant something. Probably just because it hadn’t been that long ago that Cas hadn’t understood what hugging was. He was awkward and weird and he didn’t fall into the same categories as other people. Hell, when Dean had met the guy, ‘people’ was the last thing he’d seen Cas as. 

And now he was was watching his friend tremble on a bed. And not the fun kind of trembling.

He had to remind himself that Cas had stopped talking. It was Dean’s turn.

“Yeah, well, only way I can see to get the pain gone is to find the bastard that did this to you and force her to fix it. She knows spells, right? So she can use one to make it right.”

Something about the way Cas froze up, the line of his shoulders stiffening and his spine locking, hit Dean’s radar for Cas-style deception. 

“She can make it right, right? Cas? Answer me.”

“Possibly,” he answered, the word sounding to be dragged out of him, reluctance in every syllable. “Probably.”

“Then why are you acting this way? What do you know?”

“She isn’t going to fix it, Dean. She wants me to suffer and then she wants me to die. And I don’t think you can make her do anything.”

Dean finished cleaning the skin across Cas’ left shoulder-blade, his brow drawn tight with thought. He tidied things up once he was done, giving himself time for the jumping thud in his arm to simmer down. If he said what he was thinking right off, he’d end up shouting at Cas and the angel was in no fit state for it. Still…

Keeping a firm hold on himself, Dean sat in the chair and rested his elbows on his knees, knowing the way he was leaning forwards could be read as aggressive. Not that Cas was looking. Dean stared at his friend’s dark hair as he spoke in carefully measured words. Mostly, they measured frustration bordering on anger. 

“I thought you said you didn’t know her.”

He let the silence creep in after that, let it curl around them both until the need to fill the space began to nag at him. And then he let it grow some more. Some interrogations needed force, others needed threats or understanding or promises. Some needed silence. 

Cas broke first.

“I didn’t.”

“Then I gotta wonder how you know what we can and can’t make her do. Because, Cas, that sounds a lot like something you say about a person whose skill-set you know. You have seen us go up against the Devil, against Leviathan. Hell. Against you. But this girl you’ve met once, her we can’t beat?”

One of Cas’ hands was still on the closer side of the bed, lying loosely just below the pillow. At Dean’s last line, that hand spasmed into a fist, the tendons in the forearm straining, like Cas really was ready to fight his way out. Or wanted to.

He didn’t answer Dean. 

Dean pressed on.

“So, do you, Cas? Do you know her? ‘Cause I’m not missing the whole thing with the past tense. What, you find a memory shaking loose in that head of yours?”

The fist grew tighter and the angel moved his head, just a bit, tucking it down as though he thought he could hide from the human pushing questions at him.

“Please, Dean, don’t make me,” he said. Almost pleaded. 

“Don’t make you what? Be honest? Tell me what the fuck is going on when all I’m trying to do is save you? Tell me, Cas.”

“Please…”

“Tell me!”

Dean found himself leaning on the bed, over his friend, his hands braced either side of the man lying there injured, hunched and hunted. From here, he could see Cas’ eyes, could see how they shone. Unshed tears. It wasn’t right. Which was just more reason the guy had to break this vow of silence he had going on and spill. 

He watched Cas’ eyes shut, as though he couldn’t stand to see the world as he spoke. 

“I think…I know her. I didn’t remember right away. She could be right. Naomi could have smothered the memory. But I know her. Knew her. I just…”

“Just what?” Dean asked

Cas sighed, his eyes still closed and his whole expression tight and unhappy.

“I just don’t know where I know her from, or her name. Or anything useful.”

His whole tone asked Dean to leave it at that, but there’d also been the weird edge that said he did know something, useful or not.

“What do you know that’s not useful? Dean asked, still boxing Cas in with his body. The Mark thrummed at this, at physically trapping the angel. Dean did his best not the let the dark ribbon of satisfaction cloud his mind. It wasn’t him. It was the Mark, and he could ignore it.

“I know she’ll do what she’s said. I know she’ll always do what she’s said.”

With that, Cas pulled his head in further, pulled his whole body in, so he seemed to shrink under Dean like an animal trying to hide. Dean hovered for a moment longer, taking in what his friend had said, then pushed himself up and away from the bed, his own hands wanting to form fists. Only he had nothing to hit.

That was why Cas was acting like he was, why he wasn’t fighting it. The only thing he knew about his captor was that she always did what she said, and she’d said she’d kill Cas. 

All the more reason to track her down and give her a few more things to say. Or scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me if there is anything which you like or are interested in.


	12. Sinker

“Charlie got something,” Sam said.

Dean looked up, lifting his head from his hands and squinting against the light from the hallway. He had no idea how much time had passed since he’d dragged that bit of information from Cas, but he’d spent it brooding in the chair whilst Cas slept. Or pretended to sleep. Guy was bigger on avoiding things he didn’t want to talk about than Dean was, it seemed.

Now, Sam filled the doorway, blocking a load of the light, but enough of it streamed by him, over his shoulders and down the sides of his body, that it felt like an intrusion from some other world, a world where mad-women weren’t out to kill Dean’s best friend and said friend hadn’t given in to it. 

“What?”

Sam detached himself from the doorway, coming further into the room and standing at the foot of the bed. For a second, he glanced down at Cas, a frown on his face, and Dean was sure he saw the angel tense. Not asleep, then. Just hiding. 

“What’d she get, Sam?” Dean asked again.

His brother looked over, his expression grim, and it was obvious he was about as hopeful about all of this as Dean was. And as determined. It was a jarring mix, but one they were both used to. 

“That contact of hers traced the spell-work keeping the live-stream connected. Practically no standard technology at all. Work of real skill, apparently. It’s amazing we managed to get anything before.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, “Well, we can admire psycho-killer’s work later. How’s the trace going to help? We already found Cas. And we did it by tracking the feed.”

“Charlie did it by tracking the feed,” Sam corrected. “But that’s not the point. The spell didn’t lead us back to that house. We think we’ve found another base for the Nephilim.”

Dean knew he’d seen it this time: Cas shrank into the bed, his fingers grasping at the sheets beneath him, like he thought he could sink into it and vanish. The angel really didn’t want Dean or Sam getting close to that woman. 

“Don’t you sweat it, Cas,” Dean said, “We’re not gonna let her get the drop on us. She’ll be finding out how fun it is to be chained to a chair before the day’s out.” He watched the line of his friend’s body. If anything, the words seemed to add tension. “Hey. We’re not gonna let her get to you, all right? You’re safe now. She’ll give up a way to cure you and then we’ll end her.” And it wouldn’t be pretty. Cas didn’t need to know that, though. 

Sam was giving Dean a look that said they’d be talking about whatever was going on here, and Dean steeled himself for that conversation. The idea of telling Sam how mixed up Cas’ head was felt wrong. A betrayal. Probably needed to be done, though. They were both his friends. Hell, if anything, Sam and Cas had seemed closer all the time just lately. Maybe Cas would have preferred Sam to be the one watching over him.

Rubbing his left hand over the Mark, Dean nodded back at his brother, silently agreeing he’d fill in the details later. 

“So, er, Charlie’ll be here as soon as she can,” Sam said. 

“Why?” Dean asked. “There is no way she’s coming with us. Not this time. She might have been able to sweet-talk you, but I am not having her putting herself in danger if I can help it.”

His brother spared the time to shoot a glare back. 

“One, she’s a grown woman who’s defeated the Wizard of Oz, even when split in two. She can handle herself and you’re being a dick,” Sam said, like he just had to get that off his chest. “Two, she’s not coming with us. She’ll be keeping an eye on Cas.”

When Dean felt his eyes widen and glanced at their friend and back, Sam huffed.

“What, you were planning on dragging him with us? Like you said, he’s injured.” At that, finally, Cas made a noise, sounding like he was gearing up to speak. Sam cut him off. “No, Cas. We all have to sit it out sometimes. This time, you get to stay here and let us fight for you, all right? God knows, you’ve saved us enough times.”

“You won’t be saving me,” Cas ground out.

“That’s enough!” Dean snapped. “You are dropping that attitude and staying out of this. Damn it, Cas, you can’t just lie there and wait to die.”

“Yes, I can,” Cas snapped back.

His voice was quieter than Dean’s, weaker, but there was no doubting the feeling in it. It was like someone had muted the volume but none of the intensity. 

And it was weird as all fuck to have this conversation with the back of the guy’s head. 

Sam moved back sharply as Dean circled the bed, not caring that he almost barged into his brother as he rounded the foot and Cas’ face came into view. Before the angel could react, turning away again, he crouched by the bed, leaning over his friend, and reached out a hand to keep him still. He came dangerously close to digging his fingers into Cas’ hair to keep him there, but the memory of that woman doing the same held Dean back. Putting the idea in Cas’ head that Dean was going to hurt him was not where this needed to go. Instead, he ended up hovering his hand over his friend’s head, as though he could keep him there with some sort of Jedi mind-trick.

It seemed to work.

Cas glared blearily up at him, clearly still half-way under from the pain and whatever else the spell-work was doing to him. Dean leaned in until all he could see were Cas’ eyes, washed out and pale compared to what they should be.

“You’re right you can stay here. You are one hundred percent wrong if you think it’s so you give up and die. Your job is to fight this. When we get her back here, you’re going to need to get through the spell being broken and getting healed. Soon as this holding pattern is done, we need you moving forwards. I need you moving forwards. You don’t get to slip away, you hear me?”

Neither one of them moved to start with, but then Cas nodded, with such a small movement Dean might have missed it had he not had his nose almost touching Cas’. 

“Right, then,” Dean said.

He shoved himself back to his feet and left the room without looking back, not waiting to see if Sam followed him. He wasn’t really surprised when he got to the main rooms alone, his brother apparently staying back in Cas’ room. It wasn’t a good idea to leave the guy alone, at that. Charlie may have quite the time keeping an eye on the angel by herself. He toyed with the idea of calling back-up, but who could he trust with Cas?

It was hours later that Sam reappeared, his hair oddly ruffled.

“Fell asleep in that chair, didn’t you?” Dean asked.

Sam pulled a face and twisted his head round, rubbing at his neck.

“We need a new chair,” he said. “Something with a head-rest. It’s all right,” he went on, when he saw Dean glancing back down the corridor behind Sam. “Cas is sleeping. For real. And I told him if he tried anything we’d leave him handcuffed to the headboard.”

“Kinky,” Dean said, but he didn’t need Sam’s return expression to know his heart wasn’t in it. “Anyway, Charlie sent a text to say she’d be here in about thirty minutes. Stopped for snacks. And Jodie’ll be turning up a bit after.”

“Jodie?” Sam asked, his face creasing in what looked like puzzlement.

“Yeah. Well, an angel’s a big job. Figured Charlie could do with someone to trade shifts with. And Jodie’s bringing that Alex along with her. Says maybe Charlie can trade stories about shitty teenage years and get the girl to stop acting up at school, so it works out for everyone. You ready to roll as soon as they’re all here?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Sam said. “Do we have an actual plan, or we just going with ‘don’t die’?”

“Don’t die and get Cas’ mystery friend in the bag,” Dean said, “I figure we take anything that might hold an angel.” 

He gestured to the items he’d got spread out on the table.

“Cuffs with angel sigils, coated in holy-oil.” The bands on Cas’ wrists weren’t inscribed with Enochian, but the angel had said he didn’t know what they were. They looked to be the same sort of patterns as the marks on his chest and were clearly there for a reason, even if Cas didn’t know what that was. “Angel-blade. Rope, also coated in the oil. Some of it’s got to work, right?”

“Sure,” Sam said again. He was doing that thing where he let Dean roll, the one where it was clear he was waiting to see if his brother snapped or broke down. 

Thing was, Dean couldn’t blame him. The Mark had barely stopped thudding in days, flaring up more at some times, but never really fading into quiet. It’s just…this was Cas. If Dean didn’t know Sam as well as he did, he’d think his brother didn’t care as much, but he’d seen Sam look to have shrugged off all manner of things. It didn’t mean anything. Sam would keep it all under wraps until he went Terminator on whatever needed killing. Dean knew they were both in this to cure their angel. 

Which was a damn good thing, because it didn’t seem like Cas himself was stepping up to the plate.

 

****************

 

Dean’s eyes were gritty and sore by the time they pulled the Impala up at the side of a lane hours later. Darkness had fallen long ago and it wouldn’t be too many more hours before dawn arrived. Still, considering how far they’d driven at times, this new hideout was practically in their back-yard. Just one state over. 

Stars crowded the night sky, covered by the occasional scudding cloud, and the whole thing was too tranquil. 

“You sure this is it?” Dean asked, rubbing the back of his hand across his eyes and turning to Sam, who already had a folder open on his lap. “What are you reading? Not the time to catch up on the gossip pages.”

Sam didn’t even frown at him. He just flicked the edge of a piece of paper with his fingers.

“Got plans of the place. Cross-matched them with some of the patterns I found on the tablets and artwork linked with that civilisation I mentioned.”

“The Valley of Dawn people?”

“Er, yeah. And the thing is, some of the patterns turn up a lot, even in the relatively few pages of information we’ve got. I got in touch with a couple of professors who work in the field. They gave me a few more details. Told them it was a PhD project.”

“Well, good for you, getting back to school, Sam,” Dean said, and he should get a medal for not letting his frustration show, “but is this really the time for a seminar?”

“Just listen. When I checked out the plans to this place, I noticed something. The walls, they’re practically the same as some of the patterns in the images. None of it quite matches what she’s done to Cas, but it’s pretty much the same as other examples.”

“You saying this whole building is some sort of spell-work?” And didn’t that just sound peachy.

“Yeah, but it also proves a link between this woman and the people I told you about. That picture you found, it is from the same source as the lines she used. I mean, this gives us confirmation of that link, so we have a better idea what we’re looking for.”

“Well, that’s great,” Dean said, forcing something like a smile onto his face to counter the sinking sensation in his stomach, “but does any of it tell us how to undo the spell? Spells. On Cas or the one here? Do we even know what this house-spell does?”

Sam didn’t have to answer that one out loud. The way his mouth shut into a straight line was all the answer Dean needed. 

“Fucking awesome,” Dean muttered. 

“At least we know to watch out for something,” Sam argued. “It’s better than going in blind. Besides, if it comes to it, we can knock through a wall, break the lines.”

“Hunting house-demolition style?” Dean asked, not even bothering to hide what he thought about that. “Yeah. Whatever. Let’s just get this done.”

“You don’t want to wait for first light?”

“And risk someone spotting us out here? No. We go in now.”

He didn’t say he had to get moving now, before the Mark crawled through him to the point where taking a swing at Sam would seem preferable to sitting around, but he got the feeling Sam knew. Besides, the sooner they nabbed the torturing psycho, the sooner Dean could cut some answers out of her. Cas wouldn’t have to wait much longer to be freed from the spell.

They crossed the dark ground between the lane and the house, more a cluster of low buildings round a courtyard, at a crouching run, keeping to the walls and fences where they could, guns ready. Dean had coated the bullets in holy-oil, too. Just in case. At this point, he was willing to try anything.

Dean stopped with his back against one wall of a building, a squat, white-washed thing with brickwork visible under the paint. It did not look like something that should have been in the area. His brother stopped next to him, frowning at the structure across the courtyard, where leaded-windows sat in a terracotta wall. Crossing the third side was a space constructed of glass and steel. This place had a real identity crisis. 

“In there?” Dean whispered, seeing Sam’s eyes were still trained on the leaded-windows to the left of the terracotta building. 

Sam nodded. He must have seen some shape in the windows, or else just the fact the lights were on was suggesting someone was home. 

Following his brother, who took off with long strides to the door in the opposite wall, Dean sent a prayer to Cas to hang on. It might not work. Perhaps the guy had lost so much grace that he wouldn’t even hear it. Still felt like a reminder to keep hoping would be a good move. They were close to an answer. Dean could feel it.

It took Sam seconds to break in, the door clicking open quickly, and the two of them crept into what turned out to be a wide hallway, lined with chests and cabinets. Each one looked like it’d come from a different time or country, with carvings and inlays and decoration that made the place look like a museum. Lights on the walls created pools of yellow light, layered with patches of darkness. 

Not slowing down, Sam took off to the left, following the hallway towards a brighter light at the end. Still following, Dean couldn’t help but pause, just for an instant, when he saw at least two of the chests had carvings on them that looked really similar to the ones on Cas’ chest. It wasn’t like they’d needed more proof this was the place, but there it was anyway.

With a grim smile on his face, Dean covered the last paces and levelled his gun at a wide room. A fireplace dominated the middle of the space, the chimney disappearing in a column of brick up through the ceiling. In front of it, seated in a red, low-backed arm-chair, sat a figure. A figure with dark hair spilling over her shoulders.

Got you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's likely it for a couple of days at least. Going to London to meet friends. Not going to cart my laptop about on the Tube. Hate the Tube. Maybe, if someone else gets tortured in this fic, I will put them on the Tube.


	13. Got you

Sam circled one way, Dean the other, and they were almost within grabbing distance before she moved. Twisting sharply, the woman stood and backed swiftly to the fireplace, her head up and her whole body poised. Even with his years of experience, Dean wasn’t sure if she was ready to run or to fight.

Her eyes were brown.

This was the same woman, though. He was sure of it. Must be like with Cas: the grace didn’t show up all the time.

“Stay still, sister,” he ordered. “You run, we shoot.”

“I am no sister of yours, Winchester,” she said. “And why do you think your bullets could hurt me? Castiel must have told you by now that I’m not human.”

Her voice was a whip-crack, but Dean could hear an undercurrent of something, something very like fear. She knew they had her, and if she knew anything about the Winchesters, she’d know they’d do what it took to get their friend back on his feet. Hell, maybe she’d even heard about Dean’s forays into persuasion. That would explain the edge to her stance that spoke of a need to flee.

Had to give her credit, though. She stuck her ground. 

“Cas told us what you are. Some angel’s dirty little love-child, right?” The muscles in her face tightened, her chin lifting another fraction of an inch. “Don’t like that, huh? Being reminded that you’re some heavenly bastard?”

Her narrowed eyes gave away her anger. That was good. He could use that. Use it to get that bit closer. He wasn’t quite in range to get hold of her. Sam stayed where he was, gun trained on her head, his expression set. She wasn’t getting away.

“Your words make no difference,” she said, her lip curling back as though she wanted to snarl at him. That’d be about right, animal that she was.

“Really, sweetheart?” Dean sneered, feeling that spark light up his blood as he taunted her. “I’m thinking they do. Can see how it gets you all riled up. Why don’t you take a swing at me? See if you can cut me the way you cut my buddy.”

“Your buddy?” She sounded honest-to-God confused, like he was speaking in some weird code. “You think that’s what he is to you? Bloody Hell. You have no idea, do you?”

Dean edged closer, sliding his right foot along and bringing the left to join it. She tracked him, but the anger in her eyes was clearly blinding her.

“I know you’re going to tell me how to fix him. That’s all I need to know.”

He was close enough. 

Dean lunged. 

 

****************************

 

“You really think that’s going to hold her?” Sam asked. He sounded like doubts were crawling in his belly.

Dean stared down at the woman in the chair. It was a hard-backed thing, the sort you should find around a farmhouse kitchen table, and she was attached to it with engraved, holy-oil soaked chains. The handcuffs kept her hands behind her, stretched around the char-back in a way that made her strain. The whole thing was in a circle of holy oil, just in case, and Dean had a match ready to go. The woman sagged in the chains, her hair hanging forwards with the ends brushing her own knees. Dean could just see the edge of a bruise around her right eye. She hadn’t gone down easily.

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean said, “I think we’re good.”

His brother grimaced at him. Sam had to be on board with getting a cure for Cas, but he wasn’t exactly jumping all over this thing. Probably worried Dean would tip over the edge. Like they had time to worry about that right now. He should be happy that Dean had agreed to do this here instead of at the bunker like he’d wanted. Sam’s argument that there could be something in the house they’d need had been enough to sway Dean, but the thought of her locked up in their dungeon was still one he wanted to see come true.

“You find anything?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, half-turning as though thinking of going to check again. 

“It’s a home, Dean,” he said. 

“A home?”

“Yeah. A home. Beds, settees, pots in the kitchen,” Sam said. “I mean, there are those patterns all over. Carved onto some furniture, on a tapestry on the wall that looks like it’s from the Middle Ages, on a bed-spread. I don’t know, Dean. Most of it’s too new to be back from the people I read about.”

“So, what? Some group got a bit carried away with the past? Think they’re the successors or something?”

“Maybe.” Sam looked at the woman, who was still out cold. “Does it matter? Either way, she has a house full of the things and she cut the one on Cas. She’s got to know what it does and how to undo it, but I can’t find anything obviously useful. If we take everything with a similar looking pattern on it, we’re going to need a removing van. We gonna wake her up?”

“You in a rush, Sammy?”

Dean was still working out how to start. A bit of a breather while he got his thoughts in order wasn’t a bad thing. 

“I think she has a kid,” Sam said. “There’s a message on the board in the kitchen. He’s down as on a school trip, but it gets back in a few hours.”

A kid. Great. They either nabbed the kid, too, or left the little sucker without a mom. Even better, that would mean people finding out they’d taken her.

Sound from the chair brought Dean’s attention back to the woman in question to find her glaring at him from behind her hair. 

“Leave him out of this,” she demanded, as though she was in any position to demand anything.

Dean leaned down and put on a smirk for her benefit, one that said he’d carve out her eyeballs for fun and she should be glad it wasn’t worse. 

“You think we can just have the little rugrat running round crying that mommy’s gone missing?” Dean asked. 

He ignored the look on Sam’s face. Their captive wouldn’t be able to see it. She’d just see Dean, just think Dean meant what he said. Which he did. After a fashion. It’d just be easier if they didn’t have to take the kid with them.

He held her gaze, the anger and desperation on her face enough to tell him she’d break first. She did. 

“He can…I can send a message. Tell him to stay with a friend. Say I’ve been called away on business.”

“Dean,” Sam broke in from over her shoulder, “do you really think this is a good idea? Why’d she help us to kidnap her?”

Before Dean could answer, the woman lifted her head, something of her pride from before still on her face.

“You’d be surprised what I would do to protect that child.”

It was let her send a message or risk the kid finding them. Dean nodded and she slumped in what looked like relief. It set Dean on edge, to let her have anything she wanted. 

He kept a close eye on her as she told Sam how to unlock her phone, which number to call so that a friend would take in the kid for the night.

“Make it a few nights,” Dean instructed, and she only hesitated a few moments before passing on the message. 

Whoever was on the other end was easy enough to persuade. Sam shot Dean a worried look and, yeah, point taken. Maybe it had been too easily sorted out. Maybe it had been some sort of code. It wasn’t like they planned on sticking around to be caught, though.

Within minutes of ending the call, they had their captive in the back of the car, still chained and cuffed, and the only sign they had been there at all was the oil on the floor.


	14. Breaking Point

The first thing Dean did after locking the Nephilim up tight in the chair he’d picked out for her was check in on Cas. He left Sam to keep an eye on their guest. Let her stew for a bit as she thought over what Dean might do to her. Would do to her. 

Dean ran through what he’d tell Cas as he made his way to the angel’s room, debating whether to let on how far he was willing to go to get the information, but one look at his friend showed he didn’t need to worry about it. Cas was out cold.

“Dean,” Charlie said, looking up from her place in the chair next to Cas’ bed. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Nodding to show he heard her, Dean crossed to the side of the bed and sank to his knees, running his eyes over Cas’ face, his back, his hands that flexed and unflexed on the sheets. The skin on his brow glistened with sweat. Fever. When Dean set the back of his hand against Cas’ forehead to check, he had to flinch back. 

“You given him anything?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the angel.

“Like what?” Charlie asked. “I mean, I tried to get him some painkillers a while back, but they didn’t do anything for him, and then he just got worse the longer you were gone. Jodie took a look at him, but even her awesome mom-powers couldn’t come up with anything. Tell me you got what you need to heal him.”

Dean stood and took one last look at his friend.

“I’m working on it.”

The creak of the chair told him Charlie was getting up and a few seconds later he felt her hand squeeze his arm, her voice cheerful in that way that said she was worried too and just didn’t think that was her role.

“Hey, you’ll find something. Some magic potion or cheat-code or something. You always do. You’re the hero, Dean. It’s what you do. Right?”

The image of Bobby’s face against that last hospital bed flashed across Dean’s mind, of Jo and Ellen in that shop right before he ran and left them. Of Kevin on the bunker floor.

“Yeah. Right.”

 

*****************************

 

Jodie wasn’t shaken off so easily.

She stood with one hip resting against a counter in the kitchen, the stern look on her face a clear indicator Dean wasn’t getting out of this until he’d answered her questions. 

“Jodie, I just want to grab a coffee before I get to work. Can this wait?”

She raised an eyebrow. She also held out a mug with steam rising from the brim. Mom-powers. Gratitude mingled with annoyance as she pointed at a chair with her free hand.

“Fine. Fine, but you get five minutes. I’ve got work to do.”

The rich scent of coffee risked mellowing his mood, but the tension thrumming through his body was too much for the luxury of a decent cup to do more than scrape some of the stress from the surface. Seeing as Jodie was fixing him with an unwavering stare, he figured he might as well try and enjoy the drink, though. 

She let him take a few sips, the heat and taste of it swilling round his mouth, before she started in with the questions.

“How likely is it your guest will be able to help that man? And is he really an angel? Because he doesn’t look much like an angel.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean said, breaking eye-contact and peering down into the black surface of the coffee. His reflection stared back at him in shades of darkness. “Not like most of us look the way you might expect. Who’d figure you for a monster-hunting cop if they saw you out on a date?”

He glanced back up in time to see her lips tighten and kicked himself for mentioning dates and monsters in the same breath. At least they’d got her out of that one in time. That was one they’d saved. 

“I imagined angels with more by way of wings,” Jodie said, her tone clearly indicating they weren’t going to discuss the Crowley run-in. “And less blood on the sheets. Seriously, Dean, I’ve seen guys fresh from gang-fights whose skin’s more intact. And nothing seems to take the pain away.”

Which meant she’d tried, and he could kiss her for that. 

“Where’s Alex?” he asked, suddenly needing to not be having this conversation. 

“About,” Jodie answered. “She’s about as pleased as you’d expect her to be, locked up in a secret bunker when she wants to be out with her friends. Least she’s made some friends.”

“That’s good.” He drained the coffee and set the mug down with a click. “Well, look. It’s great catching up, and I really do appreciate you coming and helping out, but we’ve got this. If Alex is itching to be back home-”

“Oh, no. No, you don’t,” Jodie broke in. “You dragged me here. You don’t get to throw me out before I see how this pans out. If you need to get your answers then you still need me and Charlie to keep an eye on your angel. Maybe he’ll wake up long enough I can ask him a thing or two.”

“Don’t you go upsetting him, Jodie,” Dean said, and he couldn’t help the crack of urgency in his voice. “He’s been through a lot.”

“Hey,” she said, holding her hands up. “I won’t ask him anything that’ll upset him, much as heaven owes me a few answers about…Well. You know.” 

And Dean did. Didn’t mean she got to take it out on Cas, though. Especially not when he was in such a rough state.

They sat in silence for a beat, Dean feeling that familiar pull he always seemed to get around Jodie, the one that was equal parts desire to run before she could find him out and desire to let her pull him into a hug. Not that he deserved that. Not with what he was building up to doing.

He wasn’t going to tell Jodie their captive had a kid, either.

Finally, he pushed his chair back from the table and stood, Jodie in her seat looking tiny and easily broken, something he knew she wasn’t. 

“I’d best get to it,” he said, but it felt awkward.

He was relieved when she nodded, letting him go. 

 

*******************************

 

The bruise around her eye was a purple bloom, the eye itself part-closed. 

“Looks good on you,” Dean said, letting his lip curl back.

She glared at him but didn’t speak. From the corner, he saw Sam shift. His brother knew better than to interfere though, not unless Dean came close to killing the woman before she could be of any use. Didn’t mean Dean was totally on board with his little brother seeing this, but that was one thing about the Winchesters. They knew things about each other no normal family ever would. Sam thought he’d seen how far Dean would go for information. 

“You can make this easy on yourself,” he said, “You know that. Just tell us how to heal Cas and we let you walk.”

“You lie,” she spat. “You won’t let me go. Not that it matters. I’m not telling you how to release the angel. I need him how he is.”

“And why is that?” Dean asked, circling behind her chair, letting her sense him behind her without being able to see what he was doing. Let her feel what it was like to anticipate pain. He shifted his grip on the knife he held. “What’s the big plan?”

“It’s your fault I’m having to do this,” she said, seeming to ignore his question. “It could have been quick. Painless. You can save that righteous anger for yourself. You’re the one who’s making me hurt him.”

“Nice try, Lady, but I haven’t made you do anything. Yet”

His pace brought him back to the front, to where he could see her eyes. Leaning in, he grinned mirthlessly at her, watching the way the brown gave way to red and blue, right in the middle. He was getting to her.

“But I’m going to make you do plenty. How about you show some sense and give me a cure right now? Before I have to carve me a strip of Nephilim.”

Light flared. Her pupils flooded with it. The sharp intake of her breath as he set the edge of the blade against her cheek was almost enough to settle the harsh pulse in the flesh of his arm. He had to get her to talk before this set the Mark off. Before he became the risk himself.

“What do you say, little angel? Or are you more human? I never did figure out how that worked.”

She clearly didn’t like being reminded of what she was. Shame for her she’d let that show. 

“Do you want me to fill in all of the gaps in your knowledge, Winchester?” She sounded bitter. 

From this close, Dean could see the tightness around her mouth, the fine lines around her eyes. She held herself in a way that screamed she was carrying some sort of burden. He just had to twist the knife enough to get her to crack. 

“Some gaps would be good, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low. “Just fill in why you’ve done this, how to fix it, and you can be back with that little boy of yours in no time.” 

Her skin gave under the blade, not enough to cut, but enough that she had to know that would come next. He trailed the edge down to the curve of her jaw, the indentation of her skin a promise that on the next pass the mark would be harder to lose. 

“Bet you’re wanting to check he’s safe, to hear his voice. Whatever you’re planning, is it really worth never seeing him again?”

The hitch in her breathing pulled him on. He would break her. 

“You don’t want the next time he sees you to be at your funeral, now, do you? Or maybe we’ll send him a little taster ahead of time.” 

He had the tip of the blade at her throat now, up under her jaw, and he moved it slowly down. Give her time to think about where it was going next. That was something Alistair had taught him: let their minds play over the possibilities first. 

“Maybe we’ll go old school. A finger. That be enough for him to remember you by?”

Red and gold and blue swirled in her eyes now, almost filling the iris. It would have been beautiful if he wasn’t having to focus on how to dig answers out of her. She didn’t deserve to have such beautiful eyes.

The knife point dug into her skin on the way back up, snagging just under her chin, leaving a bead of shining blood. He ignored it, twisting the blade so it ended just under her left eye, cold against the delicate skin below her eye-socket. Her breaths were short. 

“Perhaps something a little prettier. Not like you need both to do what I want.”

When he lifted the knife level, ready to jab forwards, she gasped.

“No! No, don’t.”

The red was stronger than the other colours, writhing and sparking. It was kind of like the photos of nebulae, the ones Sam liked to watch shows about. Around the light, the whites of her eyes had turned dark as the night sky. Not quite demon eyes, but close. Demon eyes with a light-show inside them. But she hadn’t denied being Nephilim.

“You want to keep these, you give me answers.”

She pressed her lips together, glaring at Dean with a look that mingled defiance and fear. He kept the knife where it was for a moment longer, then pulled back, stepping away until he was almost level with Sam. Shoulder to shoulder, the two of them watched her sag.

“I can keep this up all day,” Dean said, knowing the smirk on his face would be worrying Sam but not able to care right now. “Hell, I can do it all week. I’m gonna let you think on that for a while, but don’t you worry. I’ll be back to see if you’ve come to your senses.”

He didn’t look at his brother as they walked out, pulling the doors shut behind them. Dean had found himself searching that woman’s eyes for evidence she could be demonic, whatever Cas had said. He didn’t want to know if Sam was checking Dean’s eyes for the same thing. 

 

*******************************

 

It took almost twenty-four hours for her to crack. 

Her face was patterned in thin streaks of blood, more than one pin-prick under her eye where Dean had returned to musing on whether they should send her kid a gift. She’d finally broken when he’d pressed the blade against her back and wondered aloud whether he should replicate everything she’d done to Cas.

“Stop. Please, stop,” she begged, nowhere near as proud or as defiant as she had been. “Just… I’ll show you how to cure him. Just stop.”

“Show me? You’ll tell me. You think I’m letting you near him? You’re staying right there.”

Dean exchanged a look with Sam, who stood near the doors. Sam nodded. Neither one of them wanted her out in the bunker. 

“I can’t tell you unless I see him,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “The spell, it can work at different rates. I need to see him.”

Through the tense moments that followed, Dean ran through scenarios in his mind, trying to see her angle. 

“We can tell you how he is,” Sam said, when his brother didn’t speak for a good few seconds. “We’ve got people monitoring him.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head weakly, “No, I need to see him. You won’t be able to see what I can. You don’t have the right eyes.”

“A monitor, then,” Sam tried, something like savagery in his voice, “You seem to like those.”

She refused that, too. Claimed it had to be Cas in person. She could forget it if she thought Dean was going to let her walk through the bunker, even in chains. 

With his jaw clenched in frustration, Dean leaned forwards, sliding the blade against her throat.

“I don’t know what you think you’re pulling, but you ain’t getting away with anything now I’ve got you, you hear me? If this is all some ploy…”

He left the threat hanging and pulled the knife back a little, just enough to add another line of red to her skin. He ignored the way she hissed and tensed.

“I need to see him before I know how to cure him!”

These words were said in a rush, her hands clenched into fists on the arms of the chair. Sam’s expression plainly said he thought she was telling the truth. It still didn’t sit right with Dean.

It was just… the last time he’d taken a break, only a couple of hours ago, and gone to check in on his friend, Jodie had been on Cas-watch. The look on her face when Dean had poked his head round the door was one he hoped to forget. It was the way they’d looked at Sam and Dean in that hospital when Bobby was waiting for his reaper. It was a look that said she was gearing herself up to offer sympathy Dean didn’t want to hear.

“Fine. You need to see him, you can see him, but you are not stepping foot out of this room. Sam, you need to get Cas down here.”

“I can’t check him properly if I’m tied up,” she said, pulling on the chains around her wrists as though Dean could have forgotten he’d put them there.

“You’re gonna have to,” he snapped. 

She’d already got them moving Cas, already dragged this out far past the time it should have taken. Dean hefted the knife.

“You either tell us how to cure him once he’s down here, or I’m gonna see if cutting the head off the snake will do the trick.” 

From the way her eyes widened, he knew she’d got his meaning. He just wished he didn’t feel quite so much like he was bringing Cas to his slaughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is turning out a lot longer than I'd originally intended.


	15. Seeping Grace

Sam didn’t budge. His whole face had locked down in that way it had that spoke of flaring fires right under the skin. Without moving, Sam could make it clear he was one spark away from going nuclear and he would burn everyone around him if it happened.

Dean’s baby brother was righteous hellfire when roused. 

“Dean, a word,” Sam said, the smooth tightness of his voice enough of a warning if the expression and the way he was holding his shoulders, pulled back and tense, hadn’t already clued Dean in. 

Without waiting to see if he was followed, Sam left the room, the doors hanging open behind him in command. 

Dean ignored the woman’s eyes as he left. She needn’t think she could gloat about this, about the Winchesters disagreeing. If anything, it ought to scare her. Sam liked to call Dean on his anger, on his violence, on his lack of thought, but Sam wasn’t the only one who could work things out. Calling a cross-roads demon, getting some gross civilian to do it for him, cutting right through anything he’d deemed to be in his way, that was his little brother’s way when it got tough. It was another reason Dean had to stick around, so he could be the bad guy and Sam didn’t have to be. 

Made it grate when Sam decided to call Dean out, though. Stung. 

“Yeah? What?” Dean demanded, the moment the doors were closed behind him. He met Sam’s eyes with a glare of his own. “You got a problem with the plan?”

“Yeah, Dean. I’ve got a problem.” Sam sounded far too reasonable. He wasn’t doing a good job of hiding that snide tone he got when he thought Dean was being stupid, though. “Cas hasn’t been conscious in over a day. He’s got a fever. Best we’ve done with the blood loss is slow it down some. You really think we should be hauling him down here?”

Letting that hard smirk pull at the corners of his mouth, knowing it got nowhere near his eyes, Dean tilted his head, faking confidence. 

“You got a better idea, spit it out. You think it would be better to let her up there?”

“No. No, of course not,” Sam replied, sounding disgusted Dean would even ask that.

“Then we haven’t got a whole lot of choice.” If he faked certainty hard enough, he might even begin to buy it himself. “We take her up there or bring Cas down here. This way, least we know she’s tied up tight. Unless you think she’s lying about needing to see him?”

A last flicker of hope on that one died when Sam shook his head.

“Far as I can tell, she means that.”

And that was that. 

Sam made do with dire warnings about Dean making sure the prisoner was kept in the chair, like Dean would have suddenly decided freeing her and handing her a drink was the order of the day, and then he took off upstairs with a promise to have Cas down as safely as he could.

Dean let himself take a minute to calm down before he went back into the dungeon.

It was the first time he’d been on his own with her. Sam had always hung around, like he was afraid what would happen if he left Dean by himself. Maybe he’d worried he’d come back to find chunks of the woman strewn around the room. If she didn’t fix Cas, it wasn’t impossible that would happen. 

Right now, though, he still needed the bastard alive. 

“You’d better be playing straight with us,” he said, pointing the knife at her from the doorway. “Anything goes wrong here, and I mean anything, and I’m FedExing your eyeballs to the kid. You hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said, sullen defeat colouring her voice. 

She sounded like all of the fight had seeped out of her, but Dean kept a close watch until he heard sounds outside and turned his attention to the doorway.

Sam carried Cas in, more or less cradling the angel in his arms. It was…wrong. Just wrong. Cas was shorter than either Dean or Sam, true, or at least his vessel was. It was hard to remember it was just a vessel to Cas. He’d hardly ever seemed truly smaller, though. Crackling energy surrounded the guy. When he was powered up and healthy, at least. 

Dean had seen Cas shrink into himself far too many times over the years, through madness or doubt or losing his grace, but he had never seen him quite this bad. 

Behind Sam, Jodie and Charlie lugged a mattress, Jodie taking the lead on how to drag it to a point just outside of the circle they’d laid down around their prisoner. A circle that told them where the holy oil was, in case they needed to light it. 

As soon as Jodie had draped a sheet over the mattress, Sam set Cas down, arranging him on his stomach with his hands up by his head. It made the angel look like a kid, splayed out for a Saturday afternoon nap. Dean gripped the knife harder.

He gestured for Jodie and Charlie to leave and stamped down on a flash of anger when they both looked to Sam before going. Before stepping out and closing the doors, Jodie turned and pointed at Dean.

“We’ll be taking it in turns to come check on you. He’s our patient, you know. Don’t be stupid, you hear me?”

Before either of them could answer, she was gone, Charlie shrugging and leaving right after. 

The doors had barely clanged shut before Dean was standing by the woman’s shoulder. He didn’t go to Cas. He couldn’t. He had to stay focused on getting things handled. 

“You got what you wanted. He’s here. Tell us what to do.” 

“You think this is what I wanted?” she asked. “You’re a fool, Winchester.” 

She gasped, Dean’s hand in her hair yanking her head back.

“Fine. Fine. I can’t see as well as-”

“You’re as close as you’re getting,” Dean said, punctuating his words with another sharp pull of her hair. Where it wrapped around his fist, dark against his skin, it looked like control.

He released the tension on her scalp enough for her to lean forwards, but he kept the strands secure, a rein to guide her by. 

She was silent for what felt like forever, even Sam shifting and shooting her impatient looks before she was done, but just as Dean was about to demand a report, she sighed and sat back, wincing.

“It’s worked quickly,” she said, her words hanging in the air.

The brothers exchanged a look. Sam didn’t seem to have any better idea what she meant than Dean did.

“What has?” Sam asked, apparently deciding that Dean shouldn’t be left to ask all of the questions. “Start explaining what you did to him. Take us through it all and make sure you don’t miss anything.”

“I doubt you’d understand-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said, his fingers flexing in her hair. “Stupid humans, not getting your deep magic and shit. We’ve been around a while. Try us.”

From where he stood behind her shoulder, he saw her lips tighten, as though his words had been more aggravating than the pain he’d caused her. But she had been hurting. He was good at spotting pain, at playing on it. She hadn’t been faking. She was just too proud for her own good.

“Very well. But you aren’t going to like it. You, especially, aren’t going to like it.” And here her eyes flicked up to Dean.

“Lady, I haven’t liked anything about this.”

That fire was back in her eyes, the blue muted but at least equal to the red. If he had any idea what that meant, he’d feel a lot better. Perhaps Sam would have to add to the books in the library after this, maybe write one himself. 

She started talking, and he lost all interest in her eyes.

“The spell keeps him from dying whilst his grace bleeds out,” she said, as though speaking about something distant and removed, and not about the man lying out cold more or less at her feet. “Well, not his grace. The grace powering him just now.”

“So you’re what, killing him by inches?” Sam asked.

Dean had lost his words.

“No,” she said, more sharpness in her voice than made sense. “It won’t kill him. It isn’t even his grace. Losing it just means he’s back to being…well…human. As much as he was. If you can extract it without the process killing him, that is. Hence the writing. You need to remove foreign grace slowly and keep the vessel alive whilst you do it. You can’t take on foreign grace in true-form, so he’s been essentially stuck in that body since he had his own grace cut out of his throat.”

“His throat?” Sam asked, sounding sick.

Dean felt the phantom of a blade against his own jugular. Cas had never told them exactly how Metatron had done it. To be fair, Dean hadn’t exactly asked, to caught up in other problems to worry about something that was past. 

“Yes,” she said, a note of impatience sneaking in. “If you had the eyes, you could see the scar. One cut. Clean. It would have muted him whilst the grace spilled out, stopped him from screaming.”

That sickness in Sam’s voice was crawling up Dean’s throat, now. The thought of the angel unable even to make a noise while something so much a part of him was cut out… 

“Get to how we heal him,” Dean ordered around the bile pressing at the back of his mouth, not wanting to hear anything else about that ordeal.

“It’s not as simple as that.” She sounded certain. No way to tell if she was faking it like Dean had been earlier. “The foreign grace is all but gone. There isn’t enough left to just stop the spell. All that would happen is he’d burn out on the floor before we could do anything about it. I’m assuming you don’t want wing-prints over your concrete.”

His lip curled back as Dean lowered his hand, moving it down the back of her neck slowly, purposefully, so that her head was forced to tilt back with it. When she could look up at him, meet his glare, he stopped, held her there.

“You think you’re funny? This a joke to you? Cas lost his wings. Don’t play around.”

Her voice was strained, what with her throat being stretched the way it was, the vulnerable line of it so close to Dean’s blade. It would only take one movement, and she’d be gone. He resisted, the Mark thudding, pounding, as he held it in check. Strained though her words were, they were vehement.

“This is no joke. I wouldn’t joke about a Seraph’s wings. They’re not gone.”

“They’re good as gone,” Dean insisted, leaning closer. He felt the short puffs of her breathing against his face. “No angel I’ve seen die since the fall has left wings.”

“He would,” she said. “He didn’t fall like the others. He didn’t burn up in the air. He was cast down as a human.”

“Bull-shit.” Dean saw Sam move out of the corner of his eye, but he kept himself from tipping over into the point where his brother would have to step in. “Cas hasn’t flown since he went to face Naomi. Since he fell for the trap.”

“Yes. The trap.” And why did she sound so bitter about it? “Falling for traps seems to be all he does since he met you.”

“Tell me how to fix him, then you can have all the time you want to whine at me about whatever-the-fuck it is you think I’m to blame for.”

This time, his glare seemed to get through to her. She blinked. Blinked again. Gave a tiny nod: all she could manage with her head pulled back, and it probably twinged, at that.

“You have my word.”

Dean froze for a second, not sure what she’d just promised him. Still, if she just wanted to pile on the ‘Dean broke Cas’ wagon, she could go for it. Once Cas was safe. And in the few minutes before he tore her jugular out.

He raised his hand until her head was level and she took a few breaths, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, before she went on.

“The wings are important. They’re him. Really him, in a way the body you see is not. Having his grace taken like that, it damaged his true-form, but it’s still there. Crippled, but there. Including the wings. You just have to reach it.”

Dean followed her gaze to Cas’ back, to the gaping wound they’d never managed to close. Sinking realisation struck.

“That hook was to get at his wings? At his grace?” He saw her answer on her face, in the twitch of her lips and the look in her eyes. Confusion rose to mix with the nausea he’d been feeling through this whole conversation. “Why? You said you’d kill him, so don’t try to spin any story about helping him out. You said it, right out. You were going to make me watch him die. So what’s with getting at his grace?”

“Because,” she said, speaking slowly and deliberately, like she wanted Dean to hear this clearly, “I need him dead. Not some human with fragments of his memories. Him. I need him to have his own grace when he dies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've written this today instead of doing a load of work due for Monday...


	16. Choice

“Dean!”

Sam’s yell echoed, reaching Dean an instant before his brother’s hand wrapped around Dean’s left arm and pulled. Hard.

He had time for one glimpse of red and blue glowing eyes, wide and staring, before he was dragged backwards, his shoulder hitting the floor first. He rolled, back on his feet almost at once, the knife still in his hand. It had always taken a lot to get a knife from Dean; now, it took a lot more. 

Sam stood between Dean and the chair, his stance ready to fight if he had to, one hand held out, palm forwards, as though he could Jedi mind-trick Dean calm. 

“Steady on, Dean. We need her alive.”

“And apparently she needs Cas dead! We made a mistake, Sam. He’s in more danger with her here. Let me put her down and we’ll work out another way.”

“We’ve looked for another way,” Sam said, and there was no give in his tone. Anyone but Dean would have backed down right away. “She’s secure. We’re both right here. She won’t hurt Cas. Just…just don’t go for her like that again, not unless she does try to hurt him.”

He twisted, his hand still out to Dean, until his head was mostly facing the chair and its occupant. 

“You hear me? You actually try anything, and I’ll not pull him away next time.”

“I hear you.” She was quiet. Subdued. Probably shocked. 

It was one thing to hear about a Winchester’s rage, and most things that slithered and skulked and used magic had heard of it by now. It was another to see it from inches away. Dean sucked in a breath and felt it judder through his body on its way out. It took another few to get him even close to calm enough to go again. 

As soon as he felt steady, he waved Sam away, scowling when his brother didn’t move at once and pretending to ignore it when he only moved far enough away to give Dean a clear path. 

He didn’t get as close to her this time. Instead, he placed himself near enough that he could throw himself in between her and Cas if he had to, Sam at his shoulder. 

“You had better be getting to the part where you have a cure,” he said, letting his tone be as dangerous as it wanted to be. 

Her eyes were still wider than normal, but someone less observant might not have thought she was troubled at all, that it had slid off her. 

“We have to let the foreign grace run out,” she said steadily. “After that, you have to make a choice.”

“What choice?” 

“He will be human. Or not.”

He saw Sam move, taking a step closer as though that would make what had just been said clearer. 

“We have to choose if he stays human?” Sam asked, his disbelief clear. “How do we do that? You said that, what, that you could get at what’s left of his wings, right? How?”

Dean couldn’t blame Sam for having some trouble with this. Even with everything they’d seen and done, they’d never seen an angel’s wings. Not in the flesh. Cas had never even brought it up as being possible. 

“You can’t reach his wings,” she said. Truth be told, it came close to sneering. “Human hands can’t touch them. No. You won’t be doing anything with him.”

“Then what-?” Sam started.

She cut him off, looking Dean dead in the eye as she answered Sam.

“I said the foreign grace leaving wouldn’t kill him. And it won’t. Exactly. If it is controlled enough at leaving. But that wound in his back…that will kill him. You won’t be able to heal that, not even if he’s more or less human and you race him to a hospital. He’d die before you could get him there.”

Light flared in her eyes, more red this time, as she watched Dean. He stared right back. 

“What the fuck is this choice?” he asked.

She leaned forwards, that fiery glow unsettling and something like satisfaction lacing her words.

“You watch him die human or you untie me and let me turn him back into the Seraph he used to be.”

 

******************************

 

For the second time in less than half an hour, Sam had to get Dean away from her. Least he didn’t have to resort to grabbing his brother this time. 

When Dean stormed out of the dungeon, only leaving because Sam insisted, he found that Jodie and Charlie hadn’t gone further than the outer room. He rocked to a halt, not even trying to dial down the fury radiating from him, and turned to glare at Sam, who stood in the doorway.

“You stay with him.”

His brother nodded. 

Jodie got to her feet and peered at Dean, that little frown perched between her eyes that said she was seeing more than Dean wanted her to. Still, if she couldn’t do that, she probably wouldn’t have survived the last few years. Before Dean could say anything to her, Jodie gave a small nod and walked past him to Sam’s side.

“You go calm yourself down, Dean,” she said, patting Sam on the arm. “We’ll keep an eye on things here. Charlie could do with a break, anyhow.”

Charlie made a strangled noise that turned into a cough before whatever protest she’d been about to make could get into the air. The look on Jodie’s face was one Dean would think twice about arguing with, most days. Right now, it was only because he had to get away from that woman that he left Jodie in there. Even with Sam, he wasn’t happy to have the sheriff near that…that…

The outer door slammed against the wall when Dean wrenched it open, not caring how he looked to the others. They all knew him. Knew he didn’t take well to people he cared about being threatened. And it was a threat. She’d phrased it as some insane choice, but her message had been clear. If they didn’t unbind her, she was going to make them watch Cas die. Just like she’d promised.

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? If she stayed in chains, she got pretty much the same thing. She hadn’t said why she needed Cas to have his grace. For all Dean knew, that was a lie. Even if she did need that, letting her get her hands on him, letting her bring his grace out, if that was even possible… What was to stop her killing him then? 

Dean wasn’t anything close to sure that they’d got an unarmed prisoner, not with the way Cas could have an angel-blade on him when there’d been no sign of one. There was still no clear picture on what Nephilim could do, how close they were to being angels. 

If they let her loose, even just in that dungeon, and she had a blade…

He crashed through the door to the kitchen, barely hearing Charlie behind him, asking him to slow down, to talk to her. Briefly, he paused and thought of the decanters in the library. Just one drink. Maybe two. The burn would help settle him. But no. No, he owed it to Cas to be clear-headed.

With his jaw clenched tight, he set about making a fresh pot of coffee.

“Dean, are you going to talk to me or should I just pretend like you’re an NPC and wait until your interactions kick in?”

He flinched. Fuck. His nerves were shot. Maybe coffee wasn’t such a good idea. 

Turning, he got a good look at Charlie. He hadn’t really noticed much on his way past, but she was wearing the same clothes she’d been in when they’d got their prisoner back, her hair was a tangled mess and she was clutching a huge book to her chest. The dark circles under her eyes were proof enough she hadn’t been sleeping. 

“What do you want to talk about?”

Charlie huffed and took the few steps to the table, setting the book down with something close to a slam. Dean couldn’t tell if it was deliberate, or just a result of the book being so damn heavy. She sank into a chair and stared up at him, resting one hand on the book.

“Bit of light reading? Did we run out of crosswords?”

“Actually, yes. The few puzzle books you had hanging around are all done now.” And Dean really had to remember that Charlie was a genius. “But I’ve been reading this because, when he called and asked me to angel-sit, Sam told me about that civilisation you turned up, the one with the markings like on Cas.”

“You find anything which means we can slit her throat and have done with?”

He didn’t need the look on Charlie’s face to know he’d gone too far. For all she’d seen in Oz, and he still didn’t know the details, she wasn’t as hardened to gore and senseless violence as Dean was. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

They waited in silence until the coffee was ready, and Dean poured them both a cup, not bothering to ask if Charlie wanted one. She practically vibrated. There was no way she ever turned down a coffee.

“Thanks,” she said, taking it and sliding it next to the book. “And no, nothing detailed enough that we can sort this out ourselves. But I did find this.”

Turning the book, she flipped it to the back page and pointed. Dean leaned in, catching sight of a photograph. A black and white photograph. In one of their books.

“How old is this book?” he asked.

Charlie shrugged. 

“Not that old. Clearly. I said I stopped for supplies on the way here, right?”

“Books? You brought this? I thought supplies meant, like, popcorn and stuff.”

Charlie shrugged again, this time with a tiny smirk thrown in.

“Well, yeah. Duh. But also books. What can I say? I know a girl. She hooked me up with a load of stuff on ancient cultures. I’ve been trawling through them with my awesome research powers and I think I finally found a treasure-chest.”

She lifted the edge of the page and wiggled it, like it was dancing. Any time he wasn’t facing the death of his closest friend, Dean would have found it adorable. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. Charlie must have got the message, because she went on after a beat.

“Anyway, this woman is a leading expert in the field. I think she might be the field, to be honest. I put in a call and she can see me tomorrow. Turns out she’s just a few hours away at some conference. So, I’m going to head out and I wondered if you or Sam want to come. Make sure I ask all the right questions.”

A lead was great. Really. It was just that from the way their guest had been talking, Cas didn’t have that long. Still, if it got Charlie out of harm’s way…

He looked up at her and smiled.

“Take Jodie. She knows how to question people.”

And then, whichever way it went in that dungeon, they wouldn’t have to see what it did to Dean.

 

***********************

 

Jodie lingered in the doorway when Dean went back, her hand on Sam’s arm and Sam’s head lowered to her. Dean hadn’t got time to wonder what they were whispering about. He’d told them Jodie should go with Charlie, making sure to keep an eye on the Nephilim when he told them about the lead. She didn’t look concerned. Probably knew the expert wouldn’t have anything useful, or not in time, at least.

For the first time since they’d brought him down here, Dean squatted near Cas and set the back of his hand on the angel’s forehead. However much he was still an angel. His skin burned. 

“Hang in there, Cas,” he muttered.

“He hasn’t got any control over this,” the Nephilim said. “I doubt he even knows what’s happening. I suppose, if you choose to let him die, that will be a mercy.”

“He isn’t going to die,” Dean all but snarled. 

He pretty much felt Jodie and Sam’s heads snap around to him, but screw it. That sort of talk wasn’t allowed. 

Sam’s footsteps moved towards him, but he didn’t look round. He kept his attention on her, her and her eyes. They were brown just now, for the most part, with glints of blue. He was starting to think blue was contentment or some shit. Satisfaction, maybe. She’d said she wanted Cas dead, so that fit, although she’d flared red when she’d talking about having to choose. Was red for stronger emotion? Didn’t matter. Dean would cut himself open before he let her have her way. 

Before Dean could shove any of his thoughts into enough of an order to share, Sam spoke up.

“First, tell us how much time Cas has left before we need to choose,” he said, and Dean had no idea how his brother managed to be so calm. Sam had always had that edge. Right up until he lost it, but it took a lot more to get him to that point than it ever had Dean. “Are we talking weeks? Days?”

“Hours.” Again, even though she was answering Sam, she kept her gaze locked on Dean. “I’d be surprised if he makes it more than three or four more hours before he’s human.” 

Her lips twisted on the last word, like ‘human’ was something dirty. Wrong. It wasn’t fear for what that would mean for Cas, not like Dean was feeling. It was disgust.

 

“Watch it. Nothing wrong with human,” he said, but he saw the way her mouth twitched, the way her eyes narrowed. 

“Not if it’s what you’re meant to be,” she said. “Him? He was a burning light. His brilliance hurt to look upon and incinerated those who weren’t worthy. And now…” She tilted her head, something close to pity tugging at her features. “Now just look at him. I don’t care how much you claim to care for him, and I can see you do care, you can’t have any idea how much he has been diminished. You, who has never really seen him. Death will be a mercy.”

The kicker was, she sounded sincere. 

“Death is never a mercy,” Dean said, but it tasted like a lie as it left his mouth. He resisted the urge to rub at the Mark. This was Cas, though, not him, and Cas’ story was going to be different.

Her expression was definitely pity this time.

“Not just a mercy,” she said. “Sometimes, it’s a gift. I need you to remember that, Winchester.”

“Look, untying you is not on the cards,” said Sam, before Dean could respond. “So you’re going to have to tell us how to get at his wings. Trust us, we can be very creative. How were you going to do it?”

She finally turned her attention to the taller brother, raising an eyebrow.

“I am going reach in with my hands, right down to the point where his wings, and therefore his grace, meet the flesh of the vessel, and I am going to pull. There’s a chant, of course. Words are important. But you would not be able to grasp his grace, not even the tiny fragment of it that is left.”

She was speaking in that measured way again, the way that made it seem like she was in control and not in chains. The way that made her sound like English wasn’t her native language. 

Dean glanced at his brother. Sam had an intent look in his eyes, his mouth in a straight line. Dean knew that look. It was the look that came up with throwing himself into the pit, the one that worked out how to crack the Hell trials and the one that got them leads on cases at least half the time. 

“Don’t be so sure,” Dean said. “We’ve done a lot of things we weren’t supposed to be able to do.”

“Such as convincing a Seraph to turn his back on Heaven?” she asked. “Have you never wondered how you were able to do that?”

“Cas saw sense, that’s what-”

Movement shut him off. Sam moved at the same time as Dean, both drawn by Cas shifting on the mattress, twitching, then shaking, then spasming. 

“No.” Sam put out his hand and stopped Dean from dropping down to grab Cas, to hold him still. “It’ll make it worse.”

Even so, they both ended up on their knees, watching as the angel thrashed. He made no noise. That made it worse, somehow. Made it seem even more that Cas was locked inside himself where they couldn’t help him. He moved so much, so suddenly, that he turned himself onto his side, one arm almost smacking Dean in the face. On his chest, the blue light of grace blossomed, growing brighter, stronger, and Cas froze. He froze and his eyes opened, spilling their own light. 

Dean swore as light cascaded from Cas’ chest, his eyes, his nose and mouth, his body braced as though fighting against a gale the others couldn’t feel. 

He looked up, once, at the Nephilim, to see her eyes glowing, too. Red and blue light filled her eyes, no sign of the whites left, black or not. She was straining forwards in her chair, getting as clear a view as she could, looking focused. Almost eager.

The light from Cas cut out moments after Dean looked back, the angel’s body falling limp. 

Silence filled the room, thick and expectant. 

Silence didn’t last for long.

Cas opened his mouth and screamed. This time, Dean lunged forwards and got hold of his friend, trying to check on him, to comfort him… Hell. He didn’t know what. Just…something. Something to make a difference. Those were screams of pain, of loss. Of agony.

“Sam! What do we do?”

“He’s dying,” the woman shouted, “He’s in too much pain for you to do anything. If you want him to live, let me out of these chains.”

“No. You want him dead,” Dean yelled back, clutching at Cas as best he could, trying to draw him into his arms. Blood was flowing freely from the wounds, now, the thin rivulets from before turned into streams. Already, Dean’s clothing was soaked. He knew, from all the times he’d seen death, in humans and in other creatures, that Cas only had minutes. Minutes which would fly by too fast for thought to get a look-in. He knew they had to make a decision. They hadn’t had time to work out how to get a grip on an angel’s grace. But he couldn’t stomach the thought of her hands on Cas. She’d promised to kill him. “No!”

Sam’s voice was cold, hard, forceful.

“Dean, he’s dying. We have to!”

And before Dean could process it, before he could come to terms with the blood or the with the screaming or with the choice, Sam was on his feet and pulling at the chains.

And Dean couldn’t bring himself to let go of Cas for long enough to do anything about it.


	17. Flare

Sam had to pry Dean off Cas, tugging him back into an awkward hold to get him away from the mattress. Once he decided to act, Sam would be decisive, and he’d clearly decided to let the Nephilim try to get Cas’ grace back. Dean felt as though he was watching it through a screen, heavy grief already settling about him like a shroud. 

Cas was dying. 

“Sam,” he tried, but he couldn’t get any further. His voice sounded hollow. Numb. 

“Just let her try, Dean,” Sam said, right into his ear, his mouth practically pressed against the side of Dean’s head. “Let her try and we’ll deal with the rest.”

He let go of Dean then, leaving him to catch himself on the cold concrete, his arms weaker than they had any right to be as he held himself upright. The numbness was stopping him from diving at her, from knocking her away from Cas. 

She knelt next to him, a calculating look on her face, seeming to ignore Sam, who now crouched opposite her, tense and ready to move if he had to. If it would do any good. 

Cas was more on his back than his side. She reached out and placed her hands on his shoulder. Dean twitched and she levelled a look at him that clearly told him he was being foolish.

“I do this or he dies,” she reminded him, and turned back to her work.

As soon as she got Cas onto his stomach, her eyes flared, even brighter than they had before, and she shifted, her shoulders pulling back and up in a way Dean had seen on Cas when he was facing an enemy. For a second, he could have sworn he saw shapes behind her, red and insubstantial, then his vision cleared and it was just her, just a woman with fiery starlight for eyes, plunging her hands into his best friend’s body, strange words spilling from her lips.

Cas stopped screaming.

In the place of screaming, small, short gasps filled the room and it took Dean a minute, but he finally realised that Cas’ eyes were open. Really open. Cas was staring at Dean and seeing him, for the first time since Sam and Dean had left the bunker to find their cure. One hand had landed on the mattress on the line between Dean and the angel, and now it opened, reaching. 

Dean shuffled forwards, not wasting time getting to his feet, and almost fell on his own stomach as he lowered himself and grabbed Cas’ hand. He felt his friend grip tightly and squeezed back.

“Hold on, Cas,” he said, not caring if he could be heard over the chanting. “Hold on, man. We’re not losing you.”

He wasn’t sure if Cas heard him, but he kept a firm hold of Dean’s hand, still panting with what had to be pain. If he could do nothing else, Dean was going to make sure he kept hold, that Cas knew he wasn’t in this alone. He’d been alone all too often in the past. He’d let go too many times in the past. 

The sharp ache of Cas, letting go and stumbling back down an earthy slope, was enough to make Dean hold even tighter. Cas had come a long way since then. Hell, he’d told that Ritz-whatever that he wanted to live. 

The chanting went on, and on, the words dancing at the edge of meaning, like they were some Ur-language that plugged right into the base code of the world. It was sort of like Enochian, with the raw power throbbing through it, but more fluent, more lyrical. More refined. 

Whatever it was, Cas looked, if anything could be made out beyond the pain, resigned to it, whatever it was. He probably knew exactly what she was saying, being an angel and all. Except, he wasn’t an angel right now, and Dean had never thought to ask if that meant he lost any of his eons of knowledge, and anyway he hadn’t known the marks on his chest, so maybe he didn’t know this language, and Dean had to stop rambling in his head. Stop. Focus on Cas. Just on Cas. 

The guy’s eyes were still blue, clouded by suffering, and paler than Dean had ever seen them. Even when Cas had been Steve, he’d still had that otherworldly blue going for him. Now, they were washed out. That spell seemed to have knocked more than just his stolen grace from his body.

As Dean watched, gripping his friend’s hand, the pale blue caught a soft glow, deep in the iris. Tiny sparks lit up, the truer, richer blue of Cas’ normal eye colour flashing in and out. All Dean could do was stare. Did it mean this was working? 

More sparks lit up, died, lit up again. More. A whole cluster flared into being, then another, and suddenly half of Cas’ right eye was back to angel-blue. 

Dragging his gaze from the blue, Dean checked what was going on above them. She still had fiery eyes, still had her shoulders pulled back like she had invisible wings of her own held aloft, but now her hands were in the air above Cas, pulling back and forth slowly, over and over again, like she was spooling yarn. Her skin was coated in blood. 

Cas stopped breathing.

Dean jerked his eyes back to his friend, panic jolting thick nausea through him, ready to scream and yell and tear. Cas looked back, his eyes almost entirely blue, colour flooding back into his skin. 

He’d not stopped breathing because she’d killed him. He’d stopped breathing because he didn’t need to anymore. 

As Dean fathomed that fact, grace glowed electric in Cas’ eyes and the chant rose to a pitch, stirring and commanding. With a last cry, the Nephilim stopped, throwing her arms out wide as though releasing something, and it was Dean’s turn to gasp.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam looking at the same thing, his face turned up and his mouth open wide.

Above Cas, stretching all the way to the ceiling, were the sketched outlines of shining black wings, crackling with blue grace, the dungeon still visible through them. They were a dream dragged partway into reality.

As Dean stared, he felt Cas’ hand slip from his, saw Cas push himself upright, saw the massive wings thrash. Something that big should have floored all three of the people round the angel, but Dean felt nothing. 

The wings beat again. Once. Twice. 

Cas stood tall by now, his head high and his shoulders up and back and…oh. Oh. That was when he was beating his wings, when they were flaring out above his head. Did he do that every time he fought?

Already, the outline was fading, but Cas still stood the same way. Perhaps, to him, the wings were always there. Had always been there, until losing his grace.

For the first time in a long time, Dean felt awe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short and snappy final update for the weekend. I'm anticipating a crazy week back at work, so I will update when I can. And for once I have not left it with things going worse...


	18. Hold

Cas was magnificent. 

In that moment, the bunker, the Mark, even Sam slipped away. As the last after-images of the wings faded, Dean clung to the impression of them. They were too…too awesome to forget. 

For long seconds after the wings slid out of Dean’s vision, Cas stood tall, still in that pose that made Dean think the guy was ready to face down an army. His eyes glowed blue, steady and clear, and his expression was… His expression was blank.

Blank was an old look on the angel. He hadn’t looked properly blank in a long while.

Dean tore his gaze away from Cas to check on his brother, only to find him looking back, concern pinching his features. Sam had noticed something, too. Dean turned back to his friend. 

“Cas, you back? Talk to me, man.”

His thighs felt weak, like he’d just spent hours running or fighting, and his back ached as he pushed himself to his feet, moving slowly. Some part of him felt he’d tear something in the air if he went to fast. 

Cas turned his head and met Dean’s eyes. His expression didn’t change. And he didn’t speak. Didn’t answer Sam.

Taking a step, slowly, so slowly, Dean moved towards the angel, one hand lifting. He had no idea if it was to check the guy would stay upright or to avoid spooking him. Maybe to grab hold of him and pull him into a hug, if Cas gave any sign he was registering what was going on. 

Instead, the angel tilted his head, no recognition on his face. 

Dean stopped. No. No, he’d faced that before, Cas looking at him but not seeing. He couldn’t face going through it again. He felt his lips part, not knowing if he wanted to call out to Cas, beg him to remember, or if he was going to scream and swear at the fucking universe for doing this again. 

Cas’ eyes tracked his movement, dropping to his lips. 

“Cas?” Sam said, from off to Dean’s left. No point looking round. Sam wasn’t the problem right now. “Are you all right? Did something go wrong?”

He got no answer, but Cas lifted his head, his face relaxing into something slightly more like the Cas they knew, and he opened his own mouth. Dean could have sworn he saw the beginning of his own name. He didn’t get to hear it. 

“Castiel, stop!” 

The nephilim’s voice cut through the careful tension between the men, snapping Dean back to the reality of what was going on. Right. The woman who’d captured Cas, tied and hurt him, was standing right there with her promise to kill him when he’d gone full angel. 

Like Hell was that happening. 

His shoulders tensed, his anger flaring back up, but before he could move, before he could even turn his head to see what she was doing, he was hit by the change in Cas.

At her words, the angel stiffened, somehow straightening up even more, like a soldier awaiting orders, and…what? His eyes left Dean’s, unfocusing, and there was an awful, stabbing impression that Cas wasn’t going to notice Dean again. He’d shifted into some other mode.

“What have you done to him?” he demanded, finally turning and seeing the nephilim a few feet off to the side and behind Cas, one arm flung out towards the guy whose back she’d just had her hands in. Her hands stained with his blood. “How’d you do that?”

Unlike before, open emotion trembled in her voice: triumph and passion and determination.

“You think you’re the only one who commands him, Winchester?”

“I don’t command Cas,” Dean denied, but his memory was flagging up some of her comments from the phone call, from the live-feed. She’d said Cas hadn’t got a choice, that he wasn’t making his own decisions. “Wait. You think I tell him what to do? Are you high? Cas does what he wants.”

And he could have tried harder to hide his bitterness at that. How much easier would whole years have been if the angel had just done what Dean had said?

“You lie,” she said, her words quieter but just as intense as before. “I don’t know whether you’re lying to me, or to yourself, but that is a lie.”

Still with her hand out, and Dean got the bizarre idea that she had some line to Cas, she stalked closer, until she was almost reaching up and touching the guy’s shoulder. 

“Tell him, Castiel. Tell him who controls you.”

With wide eyes, Dean looked back at Cas, looked and saw his jaw was tense. He was fighting this, whatever it was. Fighting and losing. 

He spoke as though every word was dragged out of him, but he did speak.

“No-one controls me. I have free-will.”

God, it was good to hear Cas’ voice again. Crap that it was like this, that it was being forced out of him, but at least he sounded stronger than he had since they’d got him out of that basement. And he was flying the flag of free-will.

“No,” the nephilim said, certainty hard in that word. “Stop fighting me, Seraph. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Whatever your boy here thinks, I don’t enjoy hurting you.”

Cas shook his head, a fraction of an inch, and Dean got the sense the angel was winning a battle doing that. His body was held so stiffly. 

She curled her fingers, clenching them slowly into a fist, and Cas grunted, rocking where he stood as though he’d been hit.

“Answer me,” she said. It was an order. “Who controls you? Who has your allegiance?”

Cas’ lips peeled back and he looked to be struggling to keep his jaw tight, to keep his mouth closed, but it didn’t work. With a gasp, he swayed again, and answered through gritted teeth.

“Dean. My allegiance is to Dean.”

Dean wanted to run. He wanted not to hear this. It shouldn’t be bad to hear Cas say that. They were friends. Family. Of course they had each other’s backs. But the way Cas had said it made it sound…private. Significant. Like something the angel hadn’t wanted to share. 

“Stop it,” Dean said, a harsh edge giving the words bite. “So he sides with me. So what? That’s not news, sister.”

Her eyes glowed with mingled red and blue, fire and grace together. 

“You don’t understand what he’s saying.”

“So tell us,” Sam said.

Dean glared at Sam, but his brother clearly wanted this explaining. Sam didn’t seem to get that this was something dangerous. Something wrong. It was something they shouldn’t be forcing Cas to say. 

“Leave it,” Dean said, taking a step closer as if that could change anything. “Just leave it. We said you could go, so go.”

Plans for revenge shrivelled up and died. He just wanted her gone, wanted her away from Cas.

She held his gaze, her head high so she seemed to be looking down at him, even though she was so much shorter.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for. Tell him, Castiel. Tell him what you mean. None of us are going anywhere until this is done.”

What she came for? They’d brought her here, bound and unconscious. She said it like she’d walked up to the door and busted in. 

Sam seemed to have caught on to this being a bad idea. He arrived at Dean’s side, an angel-blade in his hand, his body larger in that way it had when he was about to take some creature apart.

“Don’t listen to her, Cas,” Sam said.

He was wasting his breath.

Any thought Dean had had, that Sam must have had, about taking her out was shattered when the angel started speaking. Moving just…took itself out of the picture, and Dean couldn’t have told anyone why if they’d tried to shake it out of him. He just knew he had to listen. 

“Dean has my allegiance,” Cas repeated. “My loyalty. He has me.”

“Tell him what that means, Seraph,” the nephilim ordered, her fingers hovering inches from Cas’ shoulder. 

He didn’t seem to register her properly, even though he was being directed by her words. His eyes were locked on some point above Dean’s head and in another dimension.

“I follow his lead,” Cas said.

There was nothing new there. When Dean thought about it, Cas did follow Dean’s lead, on cases. A lot of the time, anyway. So why did this feel like a revelation? Like it meant something more?

“You aren’t following this, are you?” the nephilim asked. “You don’t grasp what he’s saying. Take a seat, and I’ll make it clearer.”

She gestured with her other hand, the one not Jedi-mind-tricking Cas, and Dean’s legs gave out, his body hitting the floor with a thud. Next to him, Sam landed the same way, scrabbling to get himself upright. Neither one of them stood back up. For Dean’s part, he couldn’t. Some pressure was keeping him down.

The nephilim raised an eyebrow as he tried to move.

“You underestimate me so far that I wonder how you’ve lived this long,” she said, “and then I remember. You have an angel’s allegiance. His loyalty. And you don’t even appreciate what that means.” She sounded angry. Offended. Dean opened his mouth to break in, to tell her to put up or shut up, but she went on before he could. He wasn’t sure he could have made his tongue form words in any case. “Angels are meant to be loyal to heaven. To God. It isn’t a choice for them. They’re hardwired. It’s meshed in with their grace.”

Dean’s gaze flicked to Cas. The angel wasn’t looking so strong. The glow in his eyes was dimmer, Dean was sure it was. 

“A handful of angels throughout history have broken away from that. But here’s the thing, Dean Winchester. Here’s what you don’t seem to get. Castiel didn’t break free. He switched masters.”

The blue was definitely dimmer. Dean shifted his attention from the woman to the angel, looking for any opening to get her away from Cas, to get her to stop. He desperately, irrationally, did not want her to finish what she was saying.

He was out of luck.

“Do you know what happens when an angel’s grace is branded? When it’s claimed?” She laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Of course you don’t. If you knew, you’d have used it, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t have preached free will at him if you’d known the truth.”

Dean wanted to get to his feet and smash his fist into her face. He wanted to cover his ears. He didn’t want to hear anything about any truth. 

She stepped closer to Dean and Sam, looking down at them intently, her hand still held out to Cas.

“He was never meant to be yours. You corrupted him, Winchester.”

And those were words Dean had heard before. Corrupted. In Hell. A horrible suspicion trickled into his mind. Oh, it was nothing new. Not really. But he’d hoped he’d not have to hear it flung at him again, how he’d ruined Cas just by being pulled out of Hell.

“You thought it was just your wonderful personality?” she asked, sneering. “It’s not something angels talk about. Not something they advertise. I don’t blame them. It’s a weakness they pretend doesn’t exist. But if you stake a claim on their grace, you control them. They belong to you. Every angel in history who has made the kind of contact Castiel made with you…that angel has thrown away any chance of thinking for themselves. Forever. They might as well wear a collar.”

Pity and disgust coloured her words. Dean felt sick. 

She was wrong. Plain wrong. He could point at all the times Cas had disobeyed him. No. Not disobeyed. That implied he was Dean’s to order about. But the guy had disagreed, had refused to take Dean’s advice, loads of times. No way this made sense.

Her hand touched down on Cas’ shoulder and Dean flinched. Cas didn’t react. 

“And here’s what he really doesn’t want you to know,” she said, the blaze in her eyes driving her message home, branding it into Dean’s mind. “He claimed not to remember it, but if that’s true then his mind has been torn. Seriously torn. No angel should forget this.”

The sense of inevitability snapped around Dean, and he stopped fighting to stand, to stop her. He’d been at these points too many times in his life and he’d fought them, but sometimes they couldn’t be fought. Sometimes they just had to be suffered through. He couldn’t stop her. He had to listen. 

She was gripping Cas’ shoulder now, the way Cas used to grip Dean before flying him somewhere. Like she was grounding him. Her next words were vicious.

“The reason he can’t stay dead,” she said, “is you. You keep ordering him back. You have forced him back when he has been hurting, when he has been desperate for it to end. You have refused to give him peace. Until you break your hold on his grace, he can never die.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has fought me. So...yeah.


	19. Pause

From his place on the floor, Dean glared up at the nephilim, his jaw tight with words he wanted to hurl at her. Whatever she was doing, it was keeping him from speaking. Wasn’t the first time the Winchesters had been caught up in a spell like it, pinned to a wall or pressed to the ground. Didn’t mean Dean had learned to be all right with it. 

When he got free, and he would, he’d wipe another of the creatures who could do that to him from the earth.

“You need to free him,” she insisted. Her eyes were entirely flame. “You will free him.”

She dropped the hand she held out towards the brothers, and Dean felt the air around him snap. He could move. Speak. 

“So that you can kill him?” Dean asked, flexing his hands where he knelt. His whole body buzzed with low-grade pain. He needed to size up how well he’d be able to move. “There is zero chance I’m doing that.”

Dizziness was creeping around the edges of his brain, making the room seem to be swaying, and shooting lines of pain up and down his legs and arms made his chances of getting this done gracefully pretty slim. Didn’t matter. It just needed to get done.

Next to him, he saw Sam out of the corner of his eye, his body coiled and ready to spring. Between them, they could overpower her. Of course they could.

Sam moved first, Dean slowed by a spasm in his leg as he rose, and the taller man launched himself at the woman, power and speed and skill heading right at her. She didn’t move. 

Cas did.

Too quickly for Dean to take it all in, the angel was between Sam and the nephilim, palm out. Sam barrelled right into Cas’ hand and light spilled out, gilding Sam’s hair in a brief burst of white-gold. Cas’ face was blank. 

“No!” Dean yelled, finally getting his feet under him as his brother fell, legs and arm sprawling. 

Dean skidded to a halt and clutched at Sam, grabbing him in time to stop a complete collapse. His brother had the dead-weight heaviness of the unconscious, and Dean searched for a pulse. Where was the pulse? God, Cas couldn’t have killed Sam. No. There it was. Sam’s pulse was thready, but it was there. He was just out cold.

Fear and anger fought in his chest and he wasn’t sure which was winning when he snapped at Cas.

“What the fuck are you doing? Snap out of it, Cas. Come on, man. We’re not the enemy. We’re trying to save you.”

He got no response. Cas wasn’t even looking at him. 

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be saved,” the nephilim said, stepping out from behind Cas. “Maybe, in some part of his mind, he knows how far he has fallen and he wants it over. Maybe you should just let him go.”

Sam was getting heavier, starting to slip, but Dean tightened his grip and held on. 

“Not on the menu.”

He could set Sam down and make a stab at her himself. Only…Cas was in the way. Cas, with his thousand mile stare and blank expression, who’d blasted Sam with grace. Dean wished he’d never learned to see Cas as a danger, but he’d be lying if he told himself being afraid of the angel had never happened. 

When Cas stepped forwards, Dean stood his ground, but he could feel the tension in his shoulders, running down his back, as he set himself for a fight he knew he couldn’t win. If Cas was powered up, Dean was no match for him.

“No,” the nephilim said, and the angel stopped. “You are no threat to me, Dean. Remember that, before you issue threats and promises.”

She stepped away from Cas, back and to the side, leaving a wide span of concrete between them. 

“It would have been better if you had accepted it.”

Another step, and she was most of the way to the door. Cas still stood where she had left him, blocking Dean’s way. He watched as she turned and left the room, only looking at him again as she reached out a hand to pull the shelves closed. 

The last thing he saw of her as she shut them in was the fire in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. I know this is really, really short. Getting a bit blocked.


	20. Rest.

Sam’s head rolled back as Dean settled his brother on the floor, the effort greater than it should have been. The last few days had been hard going. 

As soon as Sam was down safely, Dean turned to size up Cas. He took a step to the side, heading towards the door, keeping a careful watch on the guy, but Cas stayed right where he was. Right. The guard-dog act had just been when the nephilim was there, then. 

He sped up once he was pretty sure that Cas wasn’t going to launch into a grace-spilling attack, but it was no good. They were locked in. 

A creature with the power to hurt and control Cas was out in the bunker with no-one to stop her and Dean was stuck in here with an unconscious brother and a mind-warped angel. Wonderful. 

Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair, glancing up at the ceiling and firing a fervent curse at anyone who might be listening. 

A thud snapped his attention back to the room.

Cas was down on his knees, his head bowed, his body heaving as though he was taking huge gasps of air. 

“Cas?” 

No. The wounds had just been healed. They guy had his grace back, finally, after everything he’d been through. What was wrong now?

“Cas?” 

Dean crouched next to Cas and stopped, his hand hovering an inch above the angel’s shoulder. He’d offered comfort when Cas had been injured, when he’d been in such pain he’d been fading away, but Dean had just watched Sam get grace-sucker-punched. The rules were all messed up. Did Cas need him, or did he need help against Cas?

“Dean,” Cas said, the familiar deep rasp of his voice almost enough to settle Dean’s more immediate nerves. Not quite, though. Not with the situation they were in. “Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you can say sorry later. Right now, we need to get out of this room. You got enough grace to do that?”

He closed the last few inches and clapped Cas on the shoulder, feeling tension there. And trembling. 

“Cas? You have got your grace back, right? ‘Cos you don’t look so good.”

Cas turned his head, revealing a strained look and clouded eyes. There was no sign of the blue glow of grace in them now.

“I have my grace back,” he confirmed. 

“But?” Dean asked, no stranger to Cas’ way of hiding the truth behind half-spoken lines.

The angel sighed and leaned sideways, into Dean, who shifted to get his chest in place to support Cas. The guy always did push himself until he fell down. 

“But,” Cas said, sounding reluctant, “there’s not a lot left. It was enough to heal the wound in my back, to stop me from dying when the other grace left me, but I…”

He trailed off, his eyes flicking down and away. Dean was sure he saw a faint flush of red staining Cas’ beck and cheeks. Was he embarrassed? 

“You’re not up to full power,” he finished for his friend. 

There was a beat before Cas confirmed the obvious.

“No. No, I’m not.”

“So, what are we talking? Can you heal? Can you wake Sam up? Got any strength to bust us out of here? Not like we haven’t had to put doors and shit back in place already just lately.”

“I don’t know.”

The fading strength in his words was enough of an answer for Dean. That, and the fact he was pretty much keeping Cas upright. 

Charlie and Jodie. 

God, he was so used to it just being him and Sam, sometimes Cas, that he’d forgotten they were upstairs. Upstairs with that creature. 

He had to let Cas slump fully against his chest as he dug his phone out and rang Jodie, but that was all right. Better to have Cas there, warm and alive, and know he was safe. For now at least. 

The phone rang and rang. 

He was just about to hang up and call Charlie’s phone when the call was answered.

“Dean? What’s up?” Charlie asked. 

“Charlie? This is Jodie’s phone.”

“Well, yeah, but she’s driving. Road safety, you know.”

Driving. Driving was good. Driving meant they weren’t up in the bunker for that woman to attack. Of course, it also meant they weren’t around to come and let Dean and the others out of the dungeon. 

“Why’re you off driving?” he asked. He wanted to ask if they were safe, but Charlie sounded upbeat and he didn’t want to worry them.

“We got a call saying we should go and meet the expert early. She’s eager to talk, apparently. Mustn’t get much chance to impress people with her mad skills, you know? So, we’re heading over now and meeting her in the hotel bar. Hot date, type of thing,” Charlie continued cheerfully. “We left you a note.”

Oh, well, then. A note. That made perfect sense. 

“A note, Charlie?” he asked, letting some of his irritation show. The first wave of relief was done with and it was dawning on him how long they’d be stuck in here if the women were off to meet the professor-type. If they weren’t even there yet, they’d be gone for hours. 

“You didn’t seem like you wanted to be disturbed.” A shift in her tone suggested she’d worked out there was a problem. “Why? What happened? Is Cas…?”

Dean’s hand tightened its grip on Cas’ shoulder at her half-finished question. He ignored the angel’s confused look, his head tilted back against Dean’s chest.

“He’s fine,” he said, hoping that this time he wasn’t lying. “You just…stay safe, you hear? And Charlie…ring before you get back. Let me know what’s happening.”

He had her promise, tinged with confusion, that they’d ring and had his phone away before Cas sat forward, pulling out of Dean’s…well, embrace sounded wrong. 

“What you up to, Cas?”

He got no answer, but Cas leaned forwards and stretched out a hand to brush against Sam’s forehead. Sam’s eyes flickered open, but almost at once Cas sagged down.

“You said you hardly had any grace! What are you playing at?” Dean asked, not even trying to hide his annoyance at this. Damn angel never had any sense of his own preservation. Asking if he could wake Sam up wasn’t the same as telling him he should. 

Not that he told Cas what to do, anyway.

“With three of us, we might be able to break open the doors,” Cas said stubbornly.

Dean was on the verge of pointing out Cas was too weak to be any use to anyone, but memories of Steve swam into his head, telling Dean he’d be no use without his powers. Dean bit the words back. 

Instead, he helped Sam to his feet and then pulled Cas up, holding on to the guy until he was sure the angel wasn’t going to sway right back to the floor. He hadn’t got any clear idea where they were with Cas’ grace right now. 

With all three of them, it took them almost an hour to get out of the room, Sam and Dean more or less holding Cas upright between them as they made their way out into the corridors. 

“You think she’s still here?” Sam asked quietly.

“If she is, she’ll have heard the racket we made getting out of there,” Dean said, his voice only slightly muffled by Cas’ hair against his mouth. The angel always seemed to tilt Dean’s way whenever they tried to get him more upright. “We need to stash Cas somewhere and go check.”

“No,” Cas insisted, his head lifting enough to glare, though Dean wasn’t sure what he was trying to glare at. He didn’t get a good lock on Dean’s eyes, at any rate. “Wait. Wait.”

The second ‘wait’ was stronger, more of an order, and both brothers drew to a halt. Cas pulled his arms away from them and stumbled to the wall, holding himself up with one hand and holding the other out. Dean opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Cas shot him such a look that he fell back into silence.

After a moment or two, the angel shut his eyes and titled his head, moving it side to side and twisting, like he was trying to hear something. 

Finally, he opened his eyes and nodded, his hand dropping to his side. 

“She’s gone,” he muttered.

Dean caught him just before he hit the floor. 

 

*********************************

 

It didn’t seem right, putting Cas right back in the bed he’d been in before, but he was so bleary and close to falling over that Sam insisted. Dean didn’t like the idea of leaving any room for doubt on the nephilim front, so he sent Sam off to scout the bunker whilst Dean settled in to the chair by Cas’ bed to keep an eye on him. 

“Observation, Sammy,” he said when his brother lifted an eyebrow and suggested they could both check out the bunker. “Standard practice after an operation.”

“This isn’t one of your hospital shows, Dean,” Sam said, but he didn’t argue.

When he came back, shrugging and reporting the front door had been left wide open, with no sign of anyone else in the bunker, Dean finally let himself relax. Just a bit. Just enough to nod off in the chair. He heard Sam leave, the gentle snick of the door closing the last thing to register before he gave in and slept.

Next thing he knew, a hand was shaking him awake. 

Reacting on impulse, Dean lunged forwards and landed with whoever it was under him, one of Dean’s knees on either side of his potential attacker’s torso. 

Then he woke up properly.

Confused blue eyes stared up at him, hands braced against Dean’s forearms. 

“Cas.” He could feel the solid lines of the angel’s body against his thighs and bloody hell, but Cas was hot. Warm. High body temperature. “Er…sorry. Still on edge, I guess.”

“Of course,” Cas replied, not breaking eye-contact. He didn’t look embarrassed, either. Just confused. Probably surprised that Dean had managed to push him over. A low rumble broke the silence after Cas’ answer and at that the guy did look a shade of embarrassed. “Um. I was wondering if you had anything I could eat?”

Eat? Shit. Cas shouldn’t need to eat.

Of course, he shouldn’t be squashed under Dean, either. 

Dean scrambled off his friend and rubbed a hand around the back of his own neck, suddenly not wanting to look at the angel. 

“Food. Yeah. We should have something. Why’d you need to eat, though?” He debated asking outright, but with Cas you had to be direct or you might not get an answer at all. You did have to be prepared for a really direct answer, too, mind. “You human again?”

He had to look back at his friend when Cas didn’t answer, and he saw the pinched look on the angel’s face, saw the way he was looking down at his own hands, the fingers twisting together. Cas had been getting more and more expressive, more human, for a long while, but there was an extra edge of movement to him right now that Dean didn’t like at all. It was a human habit, not staying still. On Cas, human meant weak, it meant vulnerable. Cas didn’t want to be human. 

“Cas? Tell me, man. I need to know how to help you.” How to look after him. 

Cas’ shoulder slumped.

“Yes. No. I…I’m not sure. Not entirely human. Not that. I can still feel my grace, but there’s hardly any of it. And I am hungry. And tired. And…cold.”

Cold? The guy was like a furnace, as far as Dean’s thighs had been able to tell. 

“Er, yeah. Well, food we got. And I’ll get you something to wear. You’ve been shirtless for days. About time you put some clothes on.”

He turned and left without waiting for Cas to follow, heading right to his own room and dragging a sweater out of a drawer. He picked up a T-shirt, as well, and walked into the hallway in time to throw them right at Cas, who’d made it as far as his own doorway.

“Get those on and I’ll get some food going.”

He ignored Cas’ thank-you and got to the kitchen as quickly as he could. Days he’d spent sitting watching Cas, when Sam hadn’t chased him out to get some rest, and it felt like he needed a bit of space. Cas was out of the woods, right? At least, he wasn’t gasping in pain or threatening to drop dead in the next ten minutes, which for Cas was a pretty good state of affairs. 

The guy could consider spending more time around them when it wasn’t a state of emergency.

Sam found Dean just as he’d slammed the third pan onto the stove.

“There a problem?” Sam asked, looking around the kitchen as though there’s be an answer somewhere on the walls.

“Not a one,” Dean said, smiling at his brother. If the smile was a little tight, a little fake, then so be it. “Oh, by the way. Cas is running on so little juice he’s hungry. And tired.”

“And cold,” Cas’ voice grumbled from the doorway. “Although the clothing does help. Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” Sam replied. “You fancy a coffee?”

By the time Dean had thrown together grilled cheese and soup, Sam and Cas were sitting at the table with their hands wrapped around mugs of steaming coffee, talking quietly. It was almost homey, and Dean was feeling a bit foolish for whatever reaction he’d been having a few minutes ago. 

Still, it’d been a stressful few days and neither of the others said anything, so Dean didn’t bother apologising. Instead, he set the food down and helped himself to a mug of coffee. He was going to tell them to dig in, but Cas already had half a grilled cheese stuffed in his mouth. Angelic he might be, but there was nothing heavenly about his eating habits.

Dean almost told him to stop wolfing down the food like he was some animal on the streets, but… Well, last time Cas had been human, if this did count as Cas being human, the guy had been on the streets. Dean had gone hungry more than he wanted to remember, but he’d never actually been out night after night in the cold like that. He’d never been alone the way Cas had been.

Seeing his friend hurting had brought up all sorts of sad, sappy thoughts, it seemed. 

Cas had food now. He was with friends. He was warm, or would be. Dean thought about getting a blanket out once they’d eaten. That would help. 

“So, Cas,” Sam said, once most of the food was gone. “How little are we talking? Your…juice.” 

Sam gestured and pulled a face as though he wasn’t quite happy with the word choice, but Cas didn’t seem worried by the phrasing. He did frown as he answered Sam’s question.

“I’m not sure. I don’t feel quite the way I did when I was left human, but it’s more than just being powered down. Maybe I’m just more used to feeling than I was.”

And he took the last bite of his sandwich, ignoring the way the brothers were staring at him. 

“At feeling what, Cas?” Sam asked at last.

Cas swallowed and picked up his mug again, staring into it.

“Oh, just that before, the first time, in the lead up to the End of Days, that feeling at all was new to me. Now, I’ve been feeling more and more for years. When I was human, it was…challenging. I thought, when I took the grace from Theo, that the feelings would go, but they only faded. And not all that much.”

As though he’d made a perfectly normal comment, he swilled the last of the coffee in his mug and downed it. 

“Much better taste. I suppose that’s more proof I don’t have a lot of grace to call on. It actually tastes of coffee.”

“That’s great,” Dean said, because he desperately didn’t want to ask what Cas had been feeling more and more of for years. He really didn’t want to hear about regret or pain or anger or any of the things that following the Winchester’s lead must have brought the angel. “What do we have to do to get you powered up?”

“I don’t know if we can,” Cas said. Before Dean could ask any further questions, the angel yawned, a huge, jaw-cracking yawn that showed even better than the sandwich eating had that Cas had a much bigger mouth than Dean used to think. 

“Need some sleep, there, Cas?” Dean asked. “Not spent enough time in bed lately?”

“Apologies,” Cas said, but he sounded half-way asleep already. “Perhaps I will feel better tomorrow.”

Dean got the extra blanket before he let Cas go to bed. 

Once the guy was snuggled down under the covers, the blue-striped blanket tucked up to his neck, Dean glanced at the chair. Perhaps he should just sit and wait until he was sure Cas was asleep. 

“I promise you, I do know how to sleep, Dean,” Cas mumbled, sounding a little irritated. “If I need your help, I will call for you. Go to bed.”

Charlie and Jodie wouldn’t be back for a while, the nephilim seemed to have taken herself out of the picture, and Cas, close to human or not, was in better shape than he had been for a while. Dean told himself it really was time to get some sleep.

He’d just double check the bunker was locked down safely, and then he’d get some shut-eye. 

If he got back up a few times during the night to check on Cas, no-one had to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems to have gone domestic. Let me know what you think.


	21. The Day After

By eight the next morning, Dean had already drunk a pot of coffee, had a phone-call from Charlie saying they were staying over and would be back when they were finished, after being told that Cas was out of immediate danger, and had been down and scrubbed the floor of the dungeon clean. 

He had no need to ever be reminded of how much Cas had bled again.

He was partway through yet another mug of coffee when his brother appeared in the doorway, looking put upon.

“You get him up,” he said, snagging the mug out of Dean’s hand and dropping into a chair.

“What?” Dean asked, his hand still out and curled round, like it hadn’t registered the mug was gone. “And get your own damn drink.”

“No. And you can get Cas up. I just went to see if he was awake and he is grumpier than you are in the morning. Grace or no grace, I thought he was going to smite me.”

“Dude’s tired, Sammy. Why not just let him sleep? Week he’s had, he deserves a lie in.”

“The week he’s had?” Sam frowned at Dean, disapproval clear on his face. “What, like he’s had a tough time at the office? Dean, he’s human. Possibly. Or as good as. And we don’t know if he’s still in danger. That’s without thinking about-”

“Yeah, yeah. All right. I get it.” Dean held up his now coffee-less hand before Sam could detail the rest of it. Pretty much the whole of the last week was something he didn’t need to be reminded of. “All the more reason to let him sleep while he can.”

Sam sat forward, the frown dissolving into an earnest look.

“Do you really think we have time for that? I mean, she left when we were more or less helpless. She was controlling Cas, which, kind of ironic. What reason did she have to leave then?”

“We brought her here,” Dean pointed out. “She wanted to get back to her kid.”

“From what we saw, I think she wants Cas dead almost as much. She had both of you right there. Whatever she wants you to do to break the connection or whatever, why not get it done?”

Dean shifted on his seat, his fingers twitching now they had no mug to hold. A coil of anger drifted up into his chest, just enough to put an edge to his voice.

“You’re starting to sound like you think she should have finished him off. You suddenly got it in for Cas?”

The glare he got for that was nigh on legendary and, yeah, so Dean felt a twinge over it. Sam wouldn’t want to hurt Cas, let alone kill the guy. Those two had been closer than ever lately. It was just…they had a chance for a breather. If Dean had learned one thing from the crazy-ass life he’d lived, it was to take the chance for a break when you got one. You got a few hours to lick your wounds, you took them. 

You didn’t wonder out loud about why the wounds hadn’t been worse. You didn’t come close to saying they should have been.

“You know what, fine,” Sam said, holding both hands up like he was surrendering. “I suppose all we can do until Charlie and Jodie get back is check over our books again. Unless you want to go hunt that nephilim down?” 

Dean didn’t even bother to answer that. He never wanted to see her again. Not unless he had a sure-fire way to kill her to hand.

“Right. Then I’m going to hit the books. You deal with Cas.”

“Why is he having to ‘deal’ with me?”

Both brothers looked up at the rough voice to see Cas standing in the doorway, one hand on the wall. He didn’t look entirely upright. 

“You Okay, man?” Dean asked, standing and getting a fresh mug of coffee. 

He put it on the table and waved at it. Cas tracked the coffee, but he didn’t make any effort to get to it. 

“I’m fine,” the angel said. 

“Yeah, that’s why you’re grabbing onto the wall to keep upright,” Dean said. Not waiting for Cas to respond, which was good, because all he was getting was an attempt at a glare, he got close enough to take hold of Cas’ elbow and maneuvered him to a chair. “Sit. Drink. Sam’s got research planned, so we can check you’re set up properly for a stay here. Sound good?”

“A stay? Here?”

Cas’ hand was paused partway to the mug, the long fingers just starting to curl in preparation for picking it up. His eyes were a fraction too wide. He wasn’t looking at Dean.

“Where else are you gonna go?” Dean asked. “You get a better offer while I wasn’t looking?”

“No. No, of course not,” Cas said. Muttered, really.

Those fingers flexed, moved, wrapped around the mug and drew it to the angel, who sat and stared down into it as though he wasn’t sure of the next step. Dean had seen Cas drink coffee, back when they’d teamed up on that case in Rexford, so…

Oh.

Oh. Right. Yeah. 

Dean glanced at Sam, and the look in his brother’s eyes made it clear the realisation had hit a bit sooner on that side of the table. Sam had his gaze on Cas, something slightly pleading in his eyes, and one hand just that bit closer to the guy, like Sam wanted to reach out and place a comforting hand on his friend. Dean felt cut off for a moment. Not needed.

“Cas,” Sam said gently, “You do know we aren’t going to make you leave, right? Last time was…it was a screw up, is what it was. That isn’t happening again.”

The pause before Cas spoke was just a beat too long. Too long to fool Dean, and probably to fool Sam, but neither of them said anything.

“Um. Yes.” Cas sat up straighter, lifting the mug. “Of course I know that.”

Dean shared a look with Sam while Cas finally took a sip. It didn’t look like Sam had any idea what to say next, either. It’d be easier if everything about this wasn’t opening up some echoing pit inside Dean. He’d almost lost Cas. Again. And now the guy hadn’t been sure he was welcome. 

“Well, that’s great,” Dean settled for at last, “but we need to get your room sorted, for starters. We must have a few hours before Charlie and Jodie get back. Let’s not waste it.”

It didn’t help that Cas seemed to think his room was already fine, even though there was nothing in it but the bed, with bedding that had been chosen at speed and which looked like it was out of style the moment it was made, and that chair. 

“This isn’t a motel, Cas,” Dean said in exasperation, after the fifth time the angel told him it really didn’t matter and he didn’t need anything else. “You don’t just drop on the nearest mattress and ignore the rest. And you need clothes.”

Only, taking Cas out when they weren’t sure what state his grace was in and weren’t sure whether the nephilim would be around seemed foolish, so Cas had to make do with what Sam and Dean could give him, along with promises they’d get him something of his own if he stayed powered down. 

Powered down. Not human. 

Every time Dean pointed out the distinction, Cas looked away and wouldn’t answer. 

Lugging a few extra home comforts into the room didn’t take long. A lamp with a soft glow, a blanket or two for in case Cas was cold, a few books Dean thought the guy should read and a chest of drawers from another room were about it. When Dean complained it wasn’t much, Cas pointed out it was more than a sleeping bag in a store-room. He didn’t seem to realise what he’d let slip and Dean swallowed the response that sprang to mind. Cas had been cagey about where he was sleeping in Rexford. It was one puzzle Dean would have been happy enough not solving. 

He watched Cas unfold one of the blankets and wrap it around himself, sitting down on the edge of the bed as though he intended to do nothing but wait and maybe stare at the wall. There was a vacant air about the guy, the type of mood that was way too close to Cas back when he’d been wearing scrubs and hanging out in a hospital, as though some of his strings had been cut and he didn’t have enough left to move.

“You hungry?” Dean asked. “You gotta eat just now, right? Or is sleeping the only human thing we need to take care of for you?”

Cas seemed confused, his brow crinkling as he turned his head to almost look at Dean. 

“Eat?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “You know. You put food in your mouth and chew. It’s the latest thing. All the kids are trying it.”

All he got was a blank look. No curve of the lip in a signature Cas-smile. No warmth in the eyes. Just…blank.

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna go throw something together. You come along when you’ve finished whatever it is you’ve got going on here.”

He left before Cas could answer. If he’d been going to. If he stomped more than walked, that was his business. You’d think, after everything, Cas could at least be pleased to be in one piece and with his family. 

The angel hadn’t appeared by the time Dean had made a pile of sandwiches, so Dean left some on a plate with a glass of juice next to it and went to find Sam. His brother was in the library, surrounded by a pile of books, and he only looked up when Dean dropped the plate he’d made for Sam in front of him. On a book. There still wasn’t any need for the bitch-face.

“Take a break, Sammy. Books will be there when you’ve eaten.”

Sam looked at the plate, at Dean, back at the plate, and pushed the book he’d been reading away from him. Leaning back, he stretched and yawned, a full body uncurling from too much focus on research, before picking up his food. He got a few mouthfuls down before the glances he kept throwing at Dean turned into words.

“How’s Cas?”

“Hell if I know.” Dean scowled at his food. “He seems out of it. You think that spell’s still affecting him somehow?”

Sam seemed to give that some thought, taking another bite of his lunch and chewing slowly. 

“Hard to say,” he said after swallowing. “We still don’t really know what it was, not all of it, and we have no idea how she got Cas to attack me. We should ask him.”

“Once he’s eaten.”

“Dean, you’re not his mom. Once I’ve finished with lunch, I’m going to get him to come and talk to me. If you feel so protective over him, you can sit in. Be his witness or something.”

“I’m not…”

But Dean trailed off with the sentence unfinished. He was feeling protective. Stupidly so. He’d watched Cas walk in to face a bunch of angels on his own, different marks carved into his skin that time, and not felt this. He wondered if it could be some side-effect of the spell-work that nephilim had done. She’d been sure there was some bond between Dean and Cas. Maybe that was affecting him. 

He made a point of staying where he was when Sam went to talk to Cas. He wasn’t going to hover. 

Of course, when Sam brought Cas back into the library there was no point going off somewhere else. Dean was settled where he was, browsing through one of the books Sam had formed into a small fort. He should really finish reading it. When Sam had Cas sit at the table, Dean angled his body so he wasn’t directly facing either of them and kept reading. 

They’d obviously already started in the other room.

“You’re sure you’re stable, though, right?” Sam asked as he sat down next to Cas. Concern was clear in his voice. 

Dean had no idea how they did that, the two of them. They could ask about each other and be sincere and…and caring, without it seeming odd. He turned another page and put it out of his mind.

“As I said,” Cas replied, “my physical state is not currently a concern. There is nothing for you to do.”

“Because you’re stable, though, or because you just don’t think we can do anything?” Sam asked. 

Dean tapped a finger against the edge of the page he was reading. Well, sort of reading. He couldn’t have told anyone what was on it, but his eyes were fixed on it anyway. Trust Sam to ask a question like that. It was the sort of question that could push them all past the boundaries they kept up to keep themselves functioning, and with Cas it was always tough to know when he would keep everything shoved down inside and when he would suddenly, ruthlessly, tell the absolute truth. 

“Both,” Cas said. Sam must have given him a look or something, because Cas went on after a pause, resignation and irritation mingled in his tone. “I can’t lose my own grace. It can’t burn me out. It is me. It’s just…”

“Just?” Sam asked. Dean hated the hint of gentleness in his brother’s words, like he was coaxing Cas.

“Just that there isn’t a lot of it, and I don’t seem to be able to access any more.”

“Because you’re cut off from heaven?” Sam asked.

Unspoken in the air were those last, desperate days before the show-down at Stull, when Cas had been cut off and more or less human. 

“No. No, I’m not cut off. I’m just… Metatron took most of my grace and what is left… Well, I didn’t even know there could be any left. It must have been hidden deep.” He only stopped for a moment this time and he sounded thoughtful when he went on. “I suppose it makes sense. Even when I was human, I could hear angel radio. Some of it. So could Anna, when you found her. No human can do that. Still, it seems like something I should have known.”

He sounded more troubled by that than by the thought he had only a fraction of himself to hand. And how did that even work, anyway? Dean had never got his head around how grace really worked for Cas. It was Cas, but it was also a power-source, and sometimes the angel spoke about it like it was the angel version of a soul. Then again, Cas had to be stopped from expressing some ideas as advanced equations, which he seemed to think would make anything at all clear to Dean, so maybe it was just that the angel’s brain worked at a level where those different ways of seeing grace all made sense at once. It didn’t make any sense to Dean. 

“But you aren’t going to burn out or anything? You’re certain?” Sam asked, and, yeah, maybe it was sensible to tie Cas down on that one. The guy had a tendency to ignore any harm to himself until it was nearly too late. 

“Yes, Sam,” Cas said, and this time the irritation was the strongest note. “I’m as good as human, but I’m not going to slow either of you down by dying.”

At that, Dean stopped pretending to read the book and looked round sharply. Sam was staring at Cas with his mouth slightly open.

“No, Cas, that’s not what I meant,” Sam said, just as Dean was about to say something. “And you aren’t slowing us down by being nearly human, either.”

Cas had dropped his eyes and seemed to be staring at his own hands in his lap. He made no sign he had heard Sam beyond a twitch of his shoulders. Dean had seen him look that way before, pretty much, when Cas had felt guilty or useless, and it always made Dean’s heart break a little. Tiny pieces of his heart must be floating about all over the place by now. 

“Leave him alone, Sam,” Dean said. “He’s safe for now.”

“Right,” Sam said, but he sounded about as convinced as he did when Dean told him the Mark was under control. “Well, then there’s something you can be useful with, Cas.” He reached for one of the books they’d found the patterns in and pushed it over to the angel, who glanced at it with a pinched brow. “You can tell us everything you know about this civilisation. The nephilim said she knew you, and we don’t even know her name.”

“I can’t help you with that,” Cas said stiffly.

“Course you can,” Dean said, but he was watching the angel carefully. “Just tell us anything you do remember. Come on, Cas. I know you remember something. You are a terrible liar, man.”

Cas looked like he wanted to argue that one, something he’d done before, but he sagged back in the chair without bothering, his eyes still on the book.

“I really don’t remember. Not enough to be of any help. I think… I think Naomi dug into my mind and took everything she could from that time.”

“From what time?” Sam asked, sounding too eager. 

Dean tried to give his brother a look, to warn him not to freak Cas out when the guy was on the edge of speaking, but Sam ignored him. Luckily, Cas wasn’t really paying much attention to either brother. By the looks of it, he could only really focus on that book, on the picture of a carving filling one page. 

Slowly, the angel lifted a hand and reached for the photograph, tracing the lines on the image with an index finger. He seemed almost reverent.

“I don’t really know when it was. I only remember glimpses, and only since the basement.” He stopped and took a breath. Apparently, even Castiel and his famous stoicism couldn’t think about that room without some pause. “I remember speaking a language I don’t know and speaking with people I don’t remember. She was one of them.”

“You don’t remember her, but you do remember her?” Dean asked. 

Cas nodded.

“Yes. It’s like… I suppose it’s like a dream you don’t quite remember. I have limited experience with dreams, but the way they cling, unclear, seems close. Only, these memories don’t seem terrifying.”

Dean didn’t have the heart to tell Cas that he wasn’t describing a normal dream. Guy must have been having nightmares the last time he was human. 

“What do they seem like, then?” Dean asked to keep his mind off the image of Cas feeling afraid in the night.

“Warm,” Cas said, as though he was feeling his way through something. “Light. There’s a city around us, thousands of people, but nothing like the cities of this time. I remember talking and laughing. I remember…belonging. I don’t know how it ended.”

Belonging. Cas’ voice had hitched on the word. How long had it been since Cas had felt he belonged somewhere? 

“What was the city like?” Sam asked, and Dean was both impressed and annoyed that his brother was staying so focused.

Instead of answering, Cas turned the pages of the book. With a faint scowl, he gave up on that one and gestured for Sam to pass him more. Sam and Dean pushed the books towards him and watched as the angel leafed through them, shaking his head every now and then. 

Eventually, he paused and tapped a page.

“Like that,” he said.

Sam shot a look at Dean and leaned over to see. His eyebrows shot up.

“Cas,” he said, “That’s an illustration of Uruk.”

“Of what now?” Dean asked, leaning over.

The picture was an illustration of clusters of buildings surrounded by a wall, a couple of much larger structures, reached by steps, towering over anything nearby. It looked ancient. 

“Uruk,” Sam said. “It’s been abandoned for, like, two thousand years or more, but it was a hugely important city for thousands of years. It’s been called the first city.”

“It wasn’t,” Cas said.

“Er, yeah, it is, Cas,” Sam said. “I’ve done a lot of reading about this just lately, and-”

“It might be called that,” Cas said, firmly, “but it wasn’t the first city.”

“Then what was?” Sam asked. 

Cas’ brow creased, his eyes shifting from side to side as though he was ransacking his mind for any clues.

“I don’t know,” he said at last, sounding frustrated. “It’s on the edge of what I can remember, but I know I’m right. I just don’t know…”

He trailed off, his gaze unfocused, and Sam looked across at Dean, his worry clear.

“Hey,” Dean said, trying and failing to catch his friend’s eyes, “Don’t sweat it, Cas. We’ll keep reading. See if we can find anything on an earlier city. All right? Least it’s a lead.”

Not much of one. Cas, if what he said about Naomi wiping his mind was right, could have been anywhere in his long life, and Dean’s head always span a bit when faced with the realisation that Cas was really that old. A lot of the time, especially when dealing with normal, everyday, human life, Dean felt like he was the older one. The mentor. Felt like a daft thing to think when he made himself remember that Cas was thousands of years old. At least. 

He felt even worse when he looked at Cas again and saw the angel had folded his arms around himself. He looked like he was shivering. 

Cas might be stable, but that was a long way from being all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just won a short story competition on my writing group website. It has nothing to do with this, but I am in a sort of mild shock and feeling happy, so I wanted to share. :)


	22. Hot Chocolate

Dean folded Cas into a blanket that afternoon and bundled him onto the couch, telling him firmly to stay put. They’d researched enough for one day. Cas had, anyway. 

Dean had gone to get a drink and had seen Cas’ sandwich still on the table in the kitchen. The guy hadn’t even eaten. He’d brought the now slightly stale sandwich through and leaned over Cas to set it on the table. If he hadn’t been so close, he probably wouldn’t have fully clocked the faint tremble running through the angel’s body, unending. 

Cas had tried to protest, but Dean was having none of it.

“You stay there. Warm up. Eat your damn sandwich.”

He got a flash of a dark scowl before he turned and left. A hot drink would help speed up getting Cas warm. 

He had the milk for hot chocolate warming in the pan when Sam stepped down into the kitchen and lurked near the stove.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean asked, knowing he was gruff and not caring. “Kinda busy.”

“Making hot chocolate counts as busy?”

“What do you want?” 

The first wisps of steam were rising from the surface of the milk. It was important to keep an eye on it at this stage. It was all too easy for the burnt-brown skin of milk to form at the bottom of the pan. 

“Dean… Do you think Cas is lying to us?” Sam asked, that edge to his voice he got when he really didn’t want to say what he was saying. It always made Dean think Sam was wanting a chance to run away and not say it, which was fucking stupid when no-one was making him come out with anything he didn’t want to. 

“What does it matter?”

“What does it…? Dean, if he isn’t stable, and he’s saying he is-”

“Then what? What difference does it make? We don’t know what to do anyway. Cas doesn’t know what to do anyway. You really think he wouldn’t tell us if he was dying and knew a way to stop it?”

A bubble popped on the surface of the milk and Dean lifted it from the hob before it could be joined by a second. He’d left it too long. 

Sam was quiet as Dean made up the hot chocolate, but his presence was something solid at the edge of Dean’s mind. When he had the drinks ready, one for each of them, Dean rested his hands against the kitchen counter-top and leaned forwards, his head hanging. He didn’t want to look at Sam.

“I don’t know if he’s lying, Sam,” he said, barely able to get the words out loud enough to carry across the room. “You know how he can be. But if he isn’t telling us something, what chance do you think I have of getting it out of him?”

“More than I do,” Sam said. 

And, yeah, all right. Dean had got Cas to open up, sometimes. It’d never been a sure thing, though. 

“Yeah. Well.”

Dean shifted his weight off his hands and picked up two of the mugs, nodding down at the third one.

“That’s for you. Don’t say I do nothing for you.”

Before Sam could call him on being ridiculous, Dean left the kitchen and took the drink to Cas. 

Tufts of dark hair stuck up over the arm of the couch, and when Dean circled round to the front he saw the angel had slid down so that his head was nestled against the padded arm, his knees tucked up and leaning against the back. The blue of the blanket seemed too bright next to how pale Cas still looked, his eyelashes feathery smudges against his cheeks. The guy was normally a deeper colour than Dean. Now, he was washed out. And cuddled in on himself. And asleep. 

It would be a shame to waste the hot chocolate. For all Dean knew, Cas hadn’t had any before. He’d not mentioned it. Cas could sleep once he’d had a warm drink. 

Setting the drinks down on the low table in front of the couch, Dean used the same table as a seat, leaning forwards and nudging Cas’ shoulder. For some reason, he kept his voice low. 

“Cas? Cas, wake up. I got you something to warm you up.”

“I am warm,” Cas said, shifting slightly and rubbing his cheek against the material of the couch, like a cat. 

“Yeah. Well, this will still help. Come on, you can go right back to sleep after.”

A sliver of blue announced Cas opening his eyes, but that was as far as it went. Cas had his hands tangled up in the blanket and was hugging it to him. It was a lot better than seeing him bleeding onto the bed, but it was still damn weird.

“Why can’t I just stay asleep now?”

Dean smiled, a gentle tug at the edges of his lips, and bundled his worry up in the back of his mind. 

“One, you’re awake already. Two, you do not want to miss my hot chocolate. Three, I want to talk.”

Cas grimaced at that, his eyes opening a little wider. It seemed to take some effort to maneuver himself upright, his hair sticking out in a way Dean hadn’t seen in years. 

“You look like you’ve been getting up to no good, Cas,” he said.

That got him a confused squint.

“I haven’t been ‘getting up’ to anything. I’ve been trying to get warm. Why is the bunker so cold?”

Dean opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of anything to say. The bunker wasn’t cold. It was actually a bit warm right then. Instead, he picked up Cas’ drink and held it out to him. Cas took it without another word, cradling it close and dipping his head to sniff at it. A pleased smile twitched at his mouth and he took a drink without Dean having to say anything else.

“This is good,” Cas said. “I suppose it’s worth being woken up for.”

Despite the smile and despite the praise, the angel still wasn’t really looking at Dean, though. 

“Yeah. It’s good,” Dean said. “So, the sleeping. The shivering. You told Sam your grace is really low. What exactly are we dealing with?”

Cas sighed. 

“My batteries, as you would say, are dead.”

He said it with finality and met Dean’s eyes on the last word. There was something almost challenging in it.

“Why is that making you cold?” He had to lean down as Cas dropped his gaze again, catching the angel’s eyes and making him look back. “Don’t do that, Cas. We just spent days watching you drain away. I spent days thinking you were going to die. Thinking I should let you, if it meant you stopped hurting. Don’t get me wrong. I am just peachy with you being better, but I want to know you really are better. We going to have to fight off some angel illness now?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes!” Cas snapped, sitting back and breaking eye-contact. His pissed-off expression would have looked scarier if he wasn’t still swaddled in the blanket and if his hair wasn’t fighting some battle against gravity. “Dean, we’ve been over this. I have told Sam and I have told you, there is nothing you can do. I may as well be human, but I am not going to suddenly die.”

“And the shivering?” Dean pressed. “And being so tired?”

Cas hesitated. 

“I don’t know,” he said, at last. “Being tired is not something I have to deal with when I have grace. Not this kind of tiredness, anyway. I was tired all the time before, when I was Steve. But the shivering…I wasn’t this cold all the time, before. Not when I was inside at night.”

“Right.” Dean cleared his throat and took a drink, trying to pretend the rich chocolate would in any way wash away the images that comment put into his mind. “Does it feel like being ill?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said, this time more thoughtfully, as though he was turning the idea over in his mind, comparing it what he knew of being human. “When I was sick, it was a mix of burning and freezing. This is just freezing.”

Dean tried very hard not to think about when Cas had been ill, about whether he’d been out on the streets or staying in a store-room. Maybe it had been during the time he’d taken off from the Gas-N-Sip and gone back to hunting. It hurt slightly less to at least think of the guy being in a bed.

“It could still be a chill, Cas, or a fever,” Dean said. “Here, let me feel.”

He reached out, pressing the back of his hand to Cas’ forehead, before he’d really thought it through. Cas’ face went still, his eyes wide and looking up at Dean’s hand.

“You scared I’m going to smite you?” Dean asked.

God, his skin was cold. It wasn’t clammy, though. Just cold. Dean found himself twisting his hand round until his palm was against Cas’ skin and sliding it down to hold the angel’s cheek. Cas’ eyes were huge, now.

“You are freezing, man,” Dean said. The realisation that he was essentially cupping the guy’s cheek crept into his mind, which, yeah… That should have hit him sooner. He sat back, wrapping both hands around his mug to stop himself from reaching out again. It was wrong for an angel to be that cold. Weren’t they meant to be made of holy fire or light or some shit? Lucifer had burned cold. Cas wasn’t meant to. ”Is the hot chocolate helping at all?”

“Um. Yes. Yes, it is.” Cas had another drink, as though he needed to prove his point. “Thank-you, Dean. I feel much better already.”

Which was clearly a lie, but Dean let it go. It smacked more of Cas trying to be human and polite than it did deliberate deception. Whenever Cas had to deal with social niceties, he acted like he was reading from a rule-book or a script, one he didn’t really get. Put a battle in front of him, and he was all over that with no hesitation whatsoever, but navigating when you should tell someone a pleasing little lie was not something he seemed able to fully fathom. 

“As long as you tell me if there’s something we can do, or if it gets worse,” Dean insisted. He drained the rest of his drink before speaking again. “You want to stay here? Or would you be better in bed?”

Cas’ grateful look at the suggestion was enough to have Dean standing and helping him to his feet, the blanket staying firmly wrapped around the angel as they made their way down to what was now Cas’ room. Dean was pleased to note the bedding was a warm green, looking fresh and plush, and the lamp was on, casting a cosy glow across the room. It wasn’t quite right, but it was better than it had been.

He refused to leave until he was sure Cas was settled, even though it meant waiting while the guy got out of his clothes and into some flannel nightclothes Sam had dragged out from somewhere. They were a blue-check and really shouldn’t have looked like they belonged on a Warrior of God, even if that bit was sort of on hold just now. 

Tucking Cas in seemed like a sensible choice. It’d be stupid to risk a chill when Dean could make sure all of the bedding and the blanket were properly in place. Cas was just a pale face in a sea of green and blue by the time Dean was done.

“You good?” he asked, looking down at his friend as though he might be able to find something else that would help. When Cas shook his head, his eyes already partway closed, Dean nodded. “Right. You get some rest, then. I’ll go see what Sam has found.”

He shut the door carefully, looking back round once or twice to check that Cas was peaceful. The click when the door shut felt too loud. Too much a signal of a barrier. Some pare of Dean expected the angel to be gone the next time he opened the door. 

Back in the library, Sam was frowning at a small book, the mug with his hot chocolate sitting near his elbow. He glanced up when Dean sat down opposite him, a questioning look on his face.

“You get him to tell you anything?”

“He’s tired. And cold. He says he doesn’t know why. Other than that, just that he isn’t going to land six feet under on us all of a sudden. I don’t know what you were expecting. You already asked him this stuff.”

Sam looked unsatisfied. 

“Yeah. But he’s weird with what he’ll tell me. Thought he might open up to you more.” He looked around as though just noticing the lack of Cas in the room. “Where is he, anyway?”

“Bed.” At Sam’s lifted eyebrow, Dean shrugged. “I know. But the shivering could mean he’s sick, so bed rest isn’t a bad idea. Least we know where he is. And don’t worry, Sammy, I’ve tucked him in tight.”

Sam pulled a face and went back to his book, muttering something Dean didn’t quite catch.

Dean let it go. He wasn’t going to admit it to Sam, not with him going on about it, but it was niggling at him that Cas remembered some things about the woman who’d done this and not enough to be of any use. He hadn’t been able to spot a lie in Cas saying he couldn’t remember, but the guy had gone a year keeping Dean in the dark about that deal with Crowley. It was easy to forget that, mainly because remembering was so painful. 

He just had to trust that Cas was telling them what he knew.


	23. Professor

Cas wasn’t telling him the whole truth.

The first scream tore Drean from his bed, fighting against the sheets and blanket as he ripped himself upright and into the hallway. He hit the opposite wall and ricocheted himself towards the noise. Towards Cas.

Sam erupted into the hallway seconds after Dean, confusion painted across his face. They didn’t waste time on talking.

Dean was through Cas’ door before the second scream faded, at Cas’ side as the angel took a breath to scream again, had his hands on Cas’ shoulders before the sound could start. 

It didn’t stop it starting, though.

“Cas!” Dean shook his friend, taking in the twitching muscles and the rapid, restless eyes behind the lids. “Cas, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up!”

Harsh gasps replaced the screams, but Cas didn’t open his eyes. Dean couldn’t tell if the guy was still trapped in whatever nightmare he was having, but the angel reached out and gripped hold of Dean’s arms, grasping tightly, like he was afraid he’d be swept away if he didn’t hold on. 

Turned out, Cas still had at least some angel strength left.

“Fuck!” Dean swore, collapsing sideways onto the bed, almost on top of Cas. 

That got a reaction. 

“Dean?” Cas asked, his eyes shooting open, wide and panicked. They were clear enough to show he was awake, though. Better than him being stuck in his own head. 

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” Dean gritted his teeth against the pain of Cas’ hold. He was going to have marks, crescent moons on his biceps where his friend was digging his nails into the muscle. “You, er, you think you can let go?”

The crease is Cas’ brow would have been funny, if not for the thin sheen of sweat. Night-sweats. Dean was no stranger to those. Then, the angel glanced down and bit his lip, his fingers loosening at once.

“Oh. Yes. Sorry.”

Dean felt like an ass the moment Cas let go, like he’d cut the guy adrift.

“Hey, on second thoughts, you need to hold on, you hold on. Okay, buddy?”

But Cas was looking away, his hands pulled back into his lap, the fingers lacing together. 

An awkward silence hung over the room for a few seconds, Dean scanning over Cas’ face, his shoulders, what he could see of his body, as though he’d be able to see whatever the issue had been. The only information it gave him was support for the theory that Cas was more built than his angel get-up ever let on. 

Dean realised he was right up in Cas’ space, one arm on either side of his friend’s legs and his body leaning in, but until he knew what had happened, exactly, he didn’t feel right about moving. Cas needed to know he wasn’t alone, right? That this time he wouldn’t be left to deal with this human, or near-human, thing by himself.

It was hellish hard to think of what to say, though. 

Thankfully, Sam took on that burden, the bed dipping as he settled himself on the other edge, his torso twisted to face Cas. He had his sincere face on, the one he used when he was talking to victims, or trying to talk Dean down from some emotional ledge. No telling which one Sam thought this was closest to. Cas was like a brother to Sam, after all.

“Cas,” Sam started, soft in a way Dean felt he could never be, “was it a nightmare? Do you want to tell us about it? It can help, sharing.”

The white tooth snagging on Cas’ lip bit down a bit further. Any more and it would cut.

Sam exchanged a look with Dean and tried again, shifting his weight a bit as though if he found the perfect angle it would get through better.

“Look, I know it can be hard, and scary, and it’s not like me and Dean are exactly role-models for healthy emotional outlets, but it really might help to get it out.”

This time, Cas’ eyes darted up to Sam’s face and away, quicker than a heartbeat. Still, it was something.

“Cas?” Dean asked, leaning into the name.

Cas eased up the pressure on his lip, releasing it. A white mark sat where the tooth had been. His lips hovered slightly open for a while before he spoke, but neither brother said anything to break whatever train of thought he was working through. He had that air again, the one that said he’d have flapped off by now if he only had his wings. 

For a moment, Dean wondered whether the wings he’d seen in the dungeon had been real. Had Cas felt his wings again, just for a few minutes? Was that worse than never feeling them again?

A huff of air announced Cas’ attempt at sharing.

“I…these feelings. They. I never…”

“It’s Okay, Cas. Take your time,” Sam broke in gently.

One of Cas’ hands twitched and Dean resisted the impulse to reach out and take it. 

On a hitched breath, the angel tried again.

“I never felt. Before. I was called heartless, and…” He paused. Didn’t look at Dean. Didn’t have to. “I was. Heartless.”

“And you feel now?” Sam prodded, still gently, still softly.

“I’ve been feeling more and more since I pulled Dean out of Hell.”

He stopped, and Dean though tthat was it. He hadn’t really told them anything. But Cas sputtered into speech again after a few steadying breaths.

“I thought, getting the grace…that would cushion it. Becoming human, it made everything sharper. More. I was, am, so much less, but I felt more. I thought… I thought that would go. With the grace. Even stolen grace. It didn’t.”

Sam reached out and patted at Cas’ knee, his eyes full of sympathy.

“I get it, Cas. I mean, I think I do. So, all this emotion is on overload, I guess. You’re still getting used to it.”

But Cas was shaking his head.

“I thought so. No. I know so. Only, in that basement, when I… When I remembered her…” He trailed off and closed his eyes, the next words apparently needing to be said in darkness. “My memories of that city are full of emotion. I don’t just remember seeing her, speaking to her. I remember feeling. But I also remember that I had never felt anything before meeting you.”

Cas looked at Dean, his eyes pleading, like he thought Dean might have the answers.

“What did you feel, Cas?” Sam asked.

Still with his eyes locked on Dean, Cas frowned, confusion seeping from him.

“Fear.” That made sense. Anyone who could do what she’d done to Cas was someone to be fearful of. “Concern. Not because of her. For her. I felt worried that harm would come to her.”

“Why?” Dean asked, unable to make his voice soft like Sam’s. The question came out more like a whip-crack.

Cas shook his head again.

“I don’t know. But I know what I felt. Fear. Concern.” He hesitated. “Affection.”

Which…what? 

“Affection?” Dean asked. “You sure this is your memory? You already said Naomi messed with your head.”

“With my memories,” Cas corrected. “Not my head. In my trueform-”

“Yeah, yeah. Trueform. Got it. Not the point,” Dean broke in. “How do you know this is a real memory?”

“It feels real.”

Cas had his stubborn tone on, now. 

“No offence, Cas, but ‘it feels real’ isn’t exactly a lot to go on when you’ve said yourself you also remember not feeling it at all.”

Dean caught Sam’s look at that, a look that said to back off before their friend was beaten back into not talking, but the frustration of trying to get the guy to be straight with them was bubbling under the surface of his skin. It didn’t make it any better that Dean was pretty sure Cas wasn’t even capable of being straight with himself right now. How much was being kept back compared to how much wasn’t known was still a tough one to work out.

“Cas, listen,” Sam said, before Dean could say anything else, “even if you are remembering this right and this nephilim was someone you cared about once, things have obviously changed. Maybe if you can think of anything that will help stop her if she tries anything again. Any weaknesses in your memory?”

“In my memory, yes,” Cas said, and Dean could have sworn his tone lifted a little, like this was the right time for a joke, even a shitty one like Cas tended to make, “but no memories of her having any weaknesses.” His tone dropped again. “As far as I remember anything, she always did what she said she would and I worried about-”

He stopped, biting his lip again, like he was stopping himself from saying more.

“Worried about what?” Sam pushed.

“I don’t know,” Cas said. “Something. Something I had to protect… Anyway, it hardly matters.”

“She drugged you, tied you to a chair, pushed a fucking spike into your back, and it doesn’t matter?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“No,” Cas said, and his voice was closer to the steely tones of an angel than they’d been for a while. “It was thousands of years ago. How many threats have we faced in the last few years? Anything from that far back is likely gone by now.”

“Like any friendship the two of you had,” Dean said. When Cas glanced up at him with a frown, Dean rolled his eyes. “A spike, Cas.”

“I beat you to a bloody mess in an alleyway when we were friends,” Cas pointed out. 

Which…yeah. But not exactly the same situation. Not unless Cas was planning on kick-starting an apocalypse and Dean had totally missed it this time. 

“I have absolutely no idea how you can be defending her,” he said when his brain kicked up nothing more useful. 

He saw Sam nod. At least they were in agreement on it. 

Cas hunched down against the headboard, his hands still clasped together. He looked far too defensive of someone who’d recently insisted she’d see him dead. 

“We don’t know the full story.”

“I don’t need to!” Dean snapped. “Nothing is worth what she did to you. What she’s said she’ll do to you. You get me, Cas? You don’t get to die on me again!”

He ignored Sam’s look, a look that was far too knowing and sympathetic, and worked on glaring Cas into submission. 

“Fine,” the angel said. “I will endeavour not to be killed. Now can I go back to sleep?”

Like he hadn’t woken everyone up with his screaming. 

“Sure,” Dean said. “Don’t let us get in the way of your beauty sleep.”

He didn’t bother closing the door quietly as he left.

 

**************************************

 

The aroma of rich coffee pulled Dean from his bed much too early. It was a damn sight better to wake up that way than to more screaming, though. He’d slammed off to his room after leaving Cas, and Sam, but he hadn’t got to sleep especially quickly. Now, the thought of coffee he didn’t have to make himself was just about enough to get him into his robe and out to the kitchen. 

Red hair and a T-shirt with a goblin on it greeted him as he stepped into the kitchen. The coffee was pushed to second best.

“Charlie,” he said warmly, not feeling like it was only a short while since he’d seen her last. He didn’t stop walking until he had her wrapped in a hug. 

“Hey,” Charlie offered back, squeezing him and knocking her head against his chest. “Made you some coffee. And…um. You may want to come through to the library.”

“What?” He stepped back and peered at Charlie with concern. “Why?”

“Turns out the prof had a lot of questions, and…well. You know. Sometimes things get a little out of control, and…”

“Charlie. What did you do?” he asked. “What did Jodie do?”

Because shouldn’t Jodie rein Charlie in if she tried anything too crazy? Jodie had a teenager to think about. A teenager who he suddenly realised had not been mentioned when Jodie and Charlie had gone off to speak to this expert. 

“And where’s the kid?”

“Alex? She came with,” Charlie said, giving Dean an odd look. “We weren’t going to leave her hanging round here without us. She’s gone to grab some sleep now. Look, we haven’t really done anything. I mean, we have, but it isn’t bad. I mean, you’ve done stuff like it before.”

“Seriously, what are you talking about?” Dean insisted.

Before Charlie could answer, Jodie’s voice arrived, followed right after by the woman herself.

“Hey, Charlie, the Professor says she’ll take it black if there’s no cream… Oh. Hey, Dean. How’s the angel?”

“Not currently angelic,” Dean said. “He’s more or less human. We think. And why would this professor need to tell you about coffee…” He stopped and closed his eyes, speaking through gritted teeth. “Charlie, what is in the library that I need to go and see.”

“Um, help?” 

With a low growl, Dean opened his eyes and stomped past Jodie, who didn’t even bother to look apologetic. She looked kind of pissed, like he was being rude. Sue him. The bunker was their home and Cas was vulnerable. Bringing random people back was not a good idea. He would see if this woman had any useful information and he would kick her to the curb.

In the library, surrounded by the books they’d been using, a figure with dark, tumbled hair flicked a page over and frowned, thick, arcing brows describing what she thought of whatever she was reading. The deep blue jacket and silver chain looked smart enough for a lecture theater, but somehow they made Dean think more of going hunting. Not the monster sort. The type with hounds and horses.

She glanced up as Dean stopped on the other side of the table and nodded at him, as if she had every right to be there.

“No wonder you’ve been having issues,” she said. “At best, these are guess work. In a lot of ways, they may as well be works of fiction. Fascinating collection, though. You mind if I have a browse to see what else you have?”

“What?” Dean asked. Her confidence was off-putting. She had him feeling, in just a few seconds, that he was in the wrong for standing in his own library and staring at her. 

“It could take a while,” she went on, as though he’d said yes, “but what fun. I’ve read everything at everything half-decent library on the continent. Trust me. The chance to find something I’ve not read is really rather exciting.”

“That’s why you came back here?” Dean managed to ask, after staring at her some more.

“Well, not exactly,” she said. “To be honest, when your friends told me you had an actual Seraph it was too much to resist. It will be an excellent chance to see if the readings are true.”

“You mean the writings?” he asked, trying to keep up. She knew Cas was here. An angel, at any rate. Were professors supposed to know angel’s were real? He couldn’t quite seem to get his mind into gear, like someone had tipped thick fog between the teeth.

“Oh, the writings are true,” she said, and laughed. “It’s whether or not I’ve read them correctly that needs testing. That’s the thing with this script, you see. It can’t lie. You literally can’t write anything down unless it is true. They used to call the city the ‘Place Where The Truth Never Bends’. At least, that’s as close as it can be translated into English. Most poetic. I’m relatively sure it didn’t stop people from finding ways around it, but that’s civilisation for you. Can I see it?”

“See what?”

Dean was vaguely aware that Charlie had arrived and handed the woman a mug, and that Jodie was only a few feet away, looking at this professor like she was waiting for an order.

“The Seraph, of course.” She shut the book in front of her and smiled, the blue of her eyes shining. “I’ve learnt a lot since the last time I saw one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thrown by Pratchett going and have not got a lot done. Also, it has gone a bit weird. I am not sure I can rescue it, so I am just pushing on. Let me know if there is anything you like. I need incentive.


	24. Faith

“Learned a lot about what?” Dean asked, glancing at Charlie as she stepped back to stand next to Jodie. Charlie didn’t look at him, all her attention fixed on the professor. 

The woman in question tilted her head at him, her eyes narrowing slightly and the smile fading to something more serious.

“Perhaps we should sit. Talk.” 

She didn’t even have to say anything. Charlie was right there pulling out a chair and practically dusting the thing off. Dean stared, mouth slightly open, before shaking himself and taking the seat opposite. Charlie faded back in the background. 

“What exactly do we have to talk about?” he asked. He needed to keep a sharp mind, here. Something was off. He just couldn’t tell what. “How do you know about Seraphs?”

“I’ve spent most of my life studying them,” she said, as though that should have been obvious.

“Pretty sure Charlie said you were an expert in Ancient Civilisations or some shit,” Dean answered, the smile quirking up the corner of his mouth having nothing to do with friendliness. “No mention of angels.”

“Oh, I specialise,” she said. “The reason I can help with your research is that I’m an expert in this particular Ancient Civilisation, and that means angels.”

“How so?”

He watched as she span the largest book around and raised it slightly, her fingers curled around the pages like clasps, like a book in the bunker’s library was hers by right. On the page, he saw a drawing that looked like the ones Cas had pointed to. At least, they looked like they could be from a neighbouring city, except this one had larger buildings and what looked to be temples dotted everywhere. 

“This was their capital, the last time they had a whole city to themselves. I’m not surprised many people are in the dark about it. The Host were thorough. Makes sense. You declare an entire species abomination and you don’t exactly want to have people coming out in support. It had to be enough to persuade any less…compliant angels that this era was done with. Wiping out most memories of the place sounds par for the course.”

“You are making less and less sense,” Dean offered pleasantly. 

“Not if you take a moment and think about it,” she said, and, although a current of enthusiasm still flowed under her words, she had dropped into something much closer to a standard lecturer mode. “This was a city of angels. Well. Angel’s offspring. One policy change in Heaven, and the whole city was purged. Destroyed. Think the Flood, but in one specific place. It’s no wonder there isn’t anything left.”

“Angel’s offspring?” Dean watched her nod. “You mean nephilim? A whole city of nephilim?”

“Not everyone,” she said, “but enough. And not only that, Dean, but angels walking amongst them.” She leaned forwards, her eyes almost glowing with her enthusiasm, now. “Think of it. This was before Heaven decided against mixed-species relationships. All that press about giants, about being so dangerous they were a corruption of nature, that came later. At this point, angels and humans had families, and even when the human was gone, when they had died, some of the angels would visit their children, and their children. It was a unique civilisation. Almost literally a heaven on Earth.”

“So what happened?” Dean asked. She seemed convinced by what she was saying and he could play along until he made sense of it. “You said a policy change? Someone get pissed off at the kids not taking out the trash?”

“Heaven lost its way a long time ago. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but a decree was issued declaring all offspring of a human and angel abomination and ordering their execution. It was issued with the expectation that the angels, even those with children, would go along with it. Would just obey.” She paused and shook her head, a shadow passing through her eyes. “Worse, many of them did.”

“But not all?” Dean asked.

“No. No, and some very powerful and skilled angels fought to get people out. But the city was still destroyed and only a few tales remained to keep any knowledge of this in human minds. Or books, as it happens.”

“There was a whole city of them? And…what exactly did Charlie and Jodie tell you, anyway?”

Apart from the fact that a Seraph was in the bunker, and thanks for that, by the way.

The professor sat back in her chair and shrugged, her eyes not leaving Dean’s face.

“They said a nephilim carved a spell into your angel’s body. They showed me photographs. From what I saw, you need my help.”

“You…they… Photographs?”

He shot a glare at Charlie and Jodie, but neither one of them was looking at Dean.

“Yes. Photographs. It looks like writing from the city I just told you about, but none of the pictures had the full image. I need to see the source.”

“Yeah, well, no can do,” Dean said, leaning back himself and smiling at her. If she picked up on the lack of warmth in it, she didn’t let on. “It’s all healed up. Washed out by his Grace.”

She shook her head.

“Oh, I doubt it. Grace can’t wipe away that script. The vessel may not carry the marks anymore, but that’s as far as it will have gone.”

“Okay, you need to level with me. Charlie said you were an academic. So you’ve read everything there is to know about this city of theirs. How does that mean you know how their spells work? Or what Grace can do? Angels hadn’t been on Earth for 2000 years, right up until the last few years. Hell, we didn’t know they were real and we- Never mind. So how does some professor know all this?”

“You think angels weren’t here?” The look on her face looked like genuine surprise. “Whoever told you that?”

“The Seraph in the other room. He’d know.”

“This is the Seraph who let himself get carved into?” she asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Before she could answer, the sound of footsteps rang through the room and Dean looked away enough to see Sam stop partway between the door and the table, confusion painted across his face. He looked like he’d just woken up and wasn’t sure that what he was seeing was real. 

“You’re not dreaming, Sammy,” Dean said, before his brother could ask. “Charlie and Jodie really did think it was a good idea to bring a civilian back to the bunker without asking.”

Again, he glared at the women, and again they didn’t even seem to notice. He had to work out what was going on there. Before he could properly grasp the thought, it drifted away.

“Er, right,” Sam said. “Nice to meet you. You are?”

Their guest smiled and waved, looking more at home than Sam did.

“Professor Faith Krikwood. Please to make your acquaintance. You must be Sam. And I’ve met Dean, of course. Which means I really do just need to meet your Seraph. Will he be awake?”

Before Dean could stop her, she was on her feet and heading past Sam, who frowned but didn’t stop her. 

“Sam!” Dean barked as he shoved his chair back and jogged after the woman, but his brother just looked confused. Dean left Sam shaking his head, like he was trying to clear it, and took off down the hallway after the professor. Faith. She hadn’t been running, so how was she still ahead of him? “Hey!” he shouted as he saw her pause, unerringly, outside Cas’ room. “You stop right there!”

He saw her roll her eye and push the door open, disappearing inside before he could reach her. 

He almost collided with the door-frame as he made it into the room, panic making his chest tight, to find her standing next to the bed, looking down on Cas with a considering look on her face. Cas was still asleep. 

“What are you doing?” Dean hissed, reached out to grab her and drag her from the room. “The guy’s asleep. You can’t just barge in here and stare at him! What kind of creep are you?”

“The kind you shouldn’t be questioning,” she said, not even trying to pull her arm away. “The fact you can bring yourself to question me is…interesting. And you need to wake him up so I can talk to him.”

“No.”

“Very well.”

And, even with Dean’s hand on her arm, she reached down and prodded Cas with her free hand. Hard. Dean swore and yanked her back, but the damage was done. Cas’ eyes shot open, he eyes fixing first on Dean and then skating over to his visitor, confusion clouding the blue as he registered her.

“What…?” His voice was cracked, probably from all the screaming last night. 

He coughed and pushed himself upright, his back firmly to the headboard. A frown creased his brow as he looked the professor up and down and bit his lip, that white tooth digging into the pink. Dean resisted sitting on the edge of the bed and running his finger along Cas’ lips to get him to stop. 

“What’s going on?” Cas asked, and on this second try his voice was only twice as scratched as it should have been. “Why are you here? Who are you? Dean?”

The look he directed at Dean then was oddly vulnerable, but the guy had just spent days in pain and helpless, and now was practically human again. In any case, Dean pulled the professor to the door and prepared to throw her out of it. 

She went without protest, but her caught herself on the door-frame before he could get her through it. Twisting, she looked back over her shoulder, right at Cas.

“Join me in the library when you’re dressed, Seraph,” she said, and it was uncomfortably close to an order. “It’s been a long time, but we need to discuss Sanktapor.”


	25. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had really unreliable internet on holiday, and also, it turns out, very little energy to do anything, so this is both late (not that I have officially given myself any deadlines) and short, but here it is anyway.
> 
> I also seem to have given up on reading it back, even, so I may have to go through and edit/correct the whole thing once it's done. In the meantime, thank-you for putting up with spelling errors and syntactical slips. I'll get to them at some point!

Cas was still curled against the headboard when Dean made it back to the bedroom, leaving Faith being fussed over by Charlie and Jodie. Sam seemed to have put himself in some sort of neutral zone over on the other side of the room, shaking his head every now and then and looking at their visitor like he was trying to make out what she was. Dean would worry about his brother properly soon, if he hadn’t snapped out of it. Right now, he had to trust that Sam could handle himself. 

Cas, on the other hand… 

“Hey, you okay?”

His friend didn’t look at him to start with, his eyes clouded as he stared at nothing. Dean sat on the edge of the bed, over any thoughts of it being weird to get this close, and leaned in to catch Cas’ eyes. It didn’t work. Too worried to let Cas come around in his own time, Dean reached out and touched two fingers to Cas’ cheek, turning the angel’s face until the guy had to look at Dean. His eyes latched on, finally, with the sort of look Dean had seen on the faces of family members who had just seen the ghost of a loved one. 

“What is it?” Dean asked. “What’s put that look on your face? You know her? You know Faith?”

That got a reaction. Cas blinked, pulling his head back, out of Dean’s hold, his expression too close to fear. 

“I have no idea if I know her,” he said, still rasping, his words oddly…hollow, like something of Cas had been stripped out in all that had happened lately. “I have no idea… But I should. Angels don’t forget, Dean. Not on our own. So how have I forgotten…?”

Damn. Every time Dean thought he’d worked out how messed up Cas was, how much he’d been mixed up by everything over the last few years, something else swam up out of the depths. He should have worked this one out. He’d been screwed up enough over his own memory rewriting Cas staying in Purgatory, let alone whole sections of his mind being wiped and twisted over…how long? Cas hadn’t really said, but from bits he’d let slip, it had sounded like it could have been thousands of years. Longer, maybe. Waking up in a Djinn dream had done a number on Dean, or that time Zachariah had trapped Sam and him in bizarro office world. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Cas.

“Tell me what you do remember. Is she dangerous? Is she dangerous to you? Because I will kill her if I have to.”

Cas blinked at him, like he couldn’t quite grasp the fact that Dean would do that for him. Slowly, some of the clouded look cleared from his eyes and his gaze looked sharper, more like himself. Not entirely. Not quite the hard-eyed soldier he had been, but Dean could recognise more of his friend in that moment. 

“I don’t think she’ll kill me,” Cas said, at last, but he didn’t sound as sure as Dean would have liked.

Even so, speaking seemed to have pushed Cas into action and he insisted on getting up and getting dressed. Dean hovered, refusing to leave even when Cas made a comment about humans normally requiring more privacy, in his experience, than Dean was giving him. So what? Cas wasn’t human. He’d said that himself more than once, and it wasn’t like the guy had grasped the personal space thing, so he probably wasn’t really bothered that Dean was in the room. In any case, Dean was keeping Cas in sight whilst that woman was in the bunker. 

Dean couldn’t help but notice that Cas was less steady in his steps than he used to be, and Dean almost reached out and grabbed the guy’s elbow a couple of times. At one point, Cas paused and pressed a palm against the wall. Dean was almost sure the angel’s hand was shaking, the long fingers less sure and certain than they had been all those times he’d seen Cas wield a blade. He hated to think how a fight would go right now.

“You sure you’re up to this?” he asked. They were only one turn from the library.

Cas didn’t bother to answer. He just pushed himself off the wall and walked on legs which were shaky to Dean’s eyes, even if most people wouldn’t have noticed, into the library.

“Cas. Hey. Are you all right to be up?” Dean heard Sam ask.

When Dean followed Cas in, he saw his brother halfway to Cas, one hand out as though he half-expected to have to rush forwards and catch their friend. To be fair, Cas was looking pale, although it was a long-shot than anyone who didn’t know the guy would be able to tell. Dean had seen that look before: Cas facing someone down with no cards at all in his hand, but full of determination to bluff his way through on sheer willpower. Sometimes, it had even been enough.

“I’m fine, Sam.”

Cas wasn’t getting any better at lying, but maybe it didn’t count when the lie was so obvious. Without waiting for Sam’s reply, Cas headed towards the table, where Faith was sitting with Jodie, and pulled out a chair opposite the professor. Dean took the chair next to him and watched as Sam slid into the one on the other side of their friend, flanking him. For once, Cas wasn’t going to face something alone. 

“Why are you here? What do you know about Sanktapor?” Cas asked, doing a much better job of his intimidating angel-tone than Dean had expected. 

He had to stop selling the guy short. Had to stop assuming he could solve all his problems on his own, though, as well. It was tough, realising he’d ricocheted from one to the other with Cas all this time. Hopefully, being here next to him was a start.

Faith looked to be studying Cas again, her eyes flickering over him. It was hard to say what she thought of what she was seeing. That air of academia was all over her, the way she tracked along the contours of Cas’ body like she was looking for something in particular, cataloging him or some shit. Dean couldn’t help the impression that she was comparing Cas to diagrams in a book. Well, good luck with that one, lady. Cas wasn’t like any other angel and it would be a fool’s mission to hold him up against the standard and expect to get any results that made sense. 

Whatever she was seeing, Faith finally met Cas’ eyes with what looked like a genuine smile. 

“It is good to meet with you, Seraph. At my college, they call me Dr. Kirkwood, but you may call be Faith.”

Cas didn’t smile back, but he was looking at her with a wary interest. 

“Are either of those your actual name?” he asked, and the harsh rasp in his voice was finally starting to smooth over. It was still there, but being up and talking must be easing some of it. 

Faith’s smile grew, quirking up at one side, and she clapped her hands together, like Cas had performed a neat trick. Dean clenched his own hands into fists, caught himself, and flexed his fingers until he could make them lie straight. Cas wasn’t giving off any vibes that he wanted the woman taken down, and Dean was really trying to let the angel make the call, here. The guy needed to know he could control something after the time he’d just had of it. It was hard, though, when Dean wanted to drag answers out of her.

“Direct as always,” Faith said, the delight in her eyes making Dean worry she was going to slap a tag on Cas and declare him an artifact for her department. “I take it you have no memory of me at all?”

Cas shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes from her.

“Should I?”

The woman shrugged, one shoulder rising and falling in a way which shouldn’t have been graceful, but was. 

“It was a long shot, but I did wonder if heaven had been keeping tabs on those of us who study the city. I suppose that would be dangerously close to letting you know there had been a city to study, mind, and we can’t have the Serphim working out they slaughtered their own offspring, can we, now?”

Cas flinched as though she’d struck him, and Dean’s fingers flexed again, this time almost closing around Cas’ wrist before he caught himself. The guy didn’t need clinging onto. He wasn’t actually about to fall apart. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cas said, but he sounded a lot less certain than before, and Dean was starting to hate that, the way Cas sounded like the bedrock he’d stood on was crumbling. The guy deserved some solid ground after all this time of having his life spun about in one effort after another to keep humanity, to keep Sam and Dean, from destruction. 

“Not yet,” Faith said, “but you will do. If you consent, of course. I’m not going to carve a spell into you without your agreement. I’m not Seraphine.”

“Seraphine?” Dean broke in, not liking the way Cas was just staring at the professor now, shut down in a way that never screamed good things were coming. “Who the Hell is Seraphine? That… Is that who cut into Cas?” And, yeah, the way Cas flinched again… Dean could have phrased that better. “You know her name?”

“Of course I know her name,” Faith said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s my sister.”


	26. Trust for a spell

“Your sister? You’re nephilim?” Dean ground the words out, his hands curling now in an urge to wrap themselves around her throat. “You’re nephilim and you’re related to the woman who tortured Cas?”

He only realised he was halfway out of his seat when he felt a grip close around his forearm and looked down to see Cas’ hand locked onto him. Without looking at him, the angel shook his head, just a fraction. With his jaw tense, Dean sank back down onto his seat. Cas forgot to let go and Dean didn’t remind him. He didn’t say anything when Cas’ thumb started moving in tight circles across Dean’s sleeve, either. The guy must be really distracted by what he’d just heard. It was weird to see Cas fidgeting, though. Even weirder to feel it. 

“Explain,” Cas said. Ordered, like he expected this woman who had invited herself to the bunker, had some bizarre effect on almost everyone and who turned out to be the sister of that woman who’d kidnapped Cas would actually do what he said. 

Faith sat back, pushing against the edge of the table with the heels of her hands as she looked at Cas, a new question in her eyes.

“You can’t see it, can you? You can’t see what I am?” Without waiting for his reply, she let go of the table and stood, making it partway around the table before even Dean could react. “I need to see the marks. Now.”

Sam got in her way. He was out of his own seat and standing between her and Cas, the lines of his body less confident than usual. Clearly, Faith was still having some sort of effect on him, but he was fighting it. Good to know. 

“What do you want with Cas?” Sam asked, his voice foggy. Had Faith managed to drug him, somehow? Sam and Charlie and Jodie? “You aren’t getting near him just because you say you want to.”

Faith stared up at Sam, tilting her head back as though she’d not quite realised just how tall he was. Her eyebrows rose.

“Well, aren’t the two of you worth a study all of your own?” she said, and Dean could almost see her constructing titles for papers in her head. “I’m sure there’s some reason neither one of you are quite…swayed by my presence, but it’s hardly a common reaction.”

“You normally just get people falling at your feet?” Dean asked, when Sam didn’t say anything. 

Sam lifted a hand to his own head, the way you would when a headache started, and Dean had the feeling that Sam was less immune than he’d just made out. 

“Hardly,” Faith said. She sighed, the least confident sound Dean had heard her make, and held up her hands as though she’d reached some limit. “Look, I don’t normally have to do this. There are hardly thousands of my kind around and we’re normally the only ones who aren’t affected by each other’s powers. Generally, no-one questions they just feel like trusting me.” That corner of her mouth quirked up again. “Why they have faith in me, you could say.”

Cas spoke up, that tone in his voice that said he was working something out.

“Faith isn’t your name. It’s a description of your power. Your effect on others.”

She met Cas’ eyes around Sam, who hadn’t moved out of her way but wasn’t entirely blocking her anymore, either.

“It’s part of it.” She shrugged again. “To be honest, it also describes my nature.”

“You’re trying to say you’re, what, the physical embodiment of faith?” Dean felt the sneer in his words and made no attempt to hide it. “Because, Lady, you ain’t exactly filling me with trust, here, and you don’t seem to have much faith yourself in anything but your own smug knowledge.”

The smile fell away and she lifted her head, meeting Dean’s eyes with a gaze that was much more angelic than it had been. He could almost see the Host in her right now.

“I have faith, Dean. In many things. Why does it bother you that one of those things is myself?” Before Dean could respond she turned back to Cas. “In any case, and for whatever reason the Winchesters are acting more like angels than they should be able to, it doesn’t change the fact that I have faith in my ability to read the spell my sister cut into you. I also have faith that I can help you, and, luckily for you, I also have faith that helping you is a good idea. So, your choice, Seraph. Are you going to take my help or are you going to let a lack of faith keep you bound?” Her voice dropped lower, quieter, as though that would somehow stop Sam and Dean from hearing her. “You have to have worked out by now what doing nothing will mean.”

“What’s she talking about, Cas?” asked Dean.

And either he’d got better at asking that question or Cas was as tired as Dean was of it having to be said more than once, because he answered right away. He didn’t sound happy about it, but he answered.

“I can’t access my grace, but I’m not human. It’s…putting pressure on my trueform.”

“Meaning?” Dean asked. God, getting anything out of Cas when he didn’t feel like sharing was hard going.

Cas sighed and Dean didn’t need to be able to see his face, which was turned towards Faith, still, to know what his expression would be. Tired and annoyed. The tightening of Cas’ grip on Dean’s arm was a clue, as well.

“Eventually, my trueform will not be able to take the strain. Or my vessel won’t. Hard to say which will go first.”

Sam stopped pretending he was being an effective barrier to Faith and turned to stare at Cas with a mix of fascination and horror.

“You’ll shatter? That…Seraphine said it’d hold, that you wouldn’t die.”

“She didn’t mean long term. Just that I’d last longer than if the stolen grace was allowed to burn me up.”

And that…didn’t sound great. It also begged the question why Cas had kept saying he was fine for the time-being back before he’d been taken, the way he’d always said they should focus on Dean first. 

“Exactly how close were you to burning out?” Dean asked, this time a lash of anger in his words. 

Cas’ thumb stopped its circles, his whole hand going tense and still.

“It doesn’t matter now. It’s gone.”

“Of course it fucking matters, Cas,” Dean burst out, twisting his arm so Cas lost his grip, and then moving again the wrap the angel’s hand in his own. Cas looked around in what looked like shock as Dean clasped his hand tight and leaned in to impress every word on Cas’ brain. “You matter, you stupid Seraph. Now you tell me, how long have you got until you fucking break into pieces?”

“I matter?” Cas asked, as though it had honestly never occurred to him before. 

The confusion in Cas’ voice brought Dean up short and he found himself staring back in silence, his mouth slightly open.

“If the two of you need a moment, I’m sure I can talk everyone else into leaving,” Faith said, sounding amused.

Two seconds later, Dean was on his feet and several strides from the table, his arms crossed over his chest. Cas stayed in his seat, looking at Dean with a faint frown and narrowed eyes, his head tilted. Dean told himself that no part of that was hurt. 

“What I need from you,” Dean ground out, “is for you to explain exactly how you’re going to help Cas, because that is the only reason you are getting nearer to him than you are now. You don’t explain it in a way I like, and I’m throwing you out on your ass.”

All of a sudden, Jodie was next to Faith, her expression almost enough on its own to make Dean want to apologise and promise to pick up his room.

“Dean, you watch your mouth,” Jodie said. “Faith’s here to help. You need to learn to trust people.”

“I need…? Jodie, you are practically family, but that has got to be the most stupid thing I have ever heard. I don’t need to trust people more. Pretty much whenever I trust someone, it blows up in my face.”

“Not always,” Cas said, quietly.

And now Dean felt like crap again. 

“Fine. Whatever. But you,” and he jabbed his finger at Faith, who didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash, “still have to explain before you get your hands on him. Understand?”

“I’m not the one who wants to get my hands on him,” she said, but she dropped the amusement, and good thing for her, before going on. It was all sincerity, all the way, practically dripping from her words, when she went on. “I need to see his trueform, and his vessel. I need to get a look at his grace. And, given that I am not the strongest of my siblings with these things, I am going to need to use a spell of my own to do that.” She smiled in a way Dean would have called rueful in someone fully human. “I’m much closer to human than most of us.”

“How many of you are there?” Cas asked.

“Stay on topic, Cas,” Dean insisted. They could worry about that later. “What’s this spell, exactly?”

Faith tilted her head from side to side, like she was shifting thoughts about in her skull.

“It’s minor, really. I need some blood, of course. These spells nearly always need blood. It’s ridiculous, but there you go.”

“If it will help, you can have some of my blood,” Cas said, already lifting his hand.

“Will you stop with that!” Dean snapped, and he only didn’t go back to the angel because Faith made no move to act on Cas’ offer. 

She was shaking her head.

“Not your blood, Seraph. I need the blood of your owner.”

The silence following that statement was enough that it almost echoed. It was enough that it jolted Sam out of whatever near-stupor of ill-advised trust he’d fallen back into, swaying on his feet as his whole face crinkled into a confused frown.

“What? Owner? Cas isn’t a pet.”

“He might as well be, according to the spell.” And she looked right at Dean. “I need your blood, Dean, if I am to judge the situation properly, and I won’t know if I can help until I see how things lie.” She held out her hand as though she hadn’t just brought up that crazy bond theory in an even worse light than her sister had managed. “So, may I have your blood? And your permission? I will need both before I can get to work.”

Dean shared a look with Cas, who didn’t look anything like as shocked by this as any sane person would be. The angel nodded, just slightly. Right, so he was up for this. Of course he was. Cas would throw himself on a fire if he was asked in the right way. The guy never seemed to think about his own safety.

Then again, if he really was on a new countdown, and this Faith was the only one with a clue about how to stop it… 

“Fine. Fine, you can have some of my blood, but you harm him and I will destroy you. You just remember, your part-angel powers don’t work on me.”

He had to ignore Jodie’s glare and Charlie’s gasp at his words, but screw it. They weren’t in their right minds just now and no-one but Dean seemed to care about Cas being safe. Not even Cas. 

Well, all right, so Sam was hovering near Faith and Cas in a way that said he cared, but it was still coming down to Dean to keep things anywhere close to sane. 

“You hear me?” he asked, when Faith just looked back at him, seemingly unmoved by his threat.

“I hear you,” she said. “I promise I will not hurt him. Now, your blood?

With a muttered curse, Dean held out his hand and stepped forwards as Faith drew a knife from her belt. He didn’t even flinch when she took hold of his wrist to steady him, but he did frown when she paused.

“A few more things. Seraph, I need to see your vessel’s skin, and the rest of you may want to leave. I doubt the Seraph here will care, but the nudity issue may come up.”


	27. Second claim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have lost all control of this, but I'm enjoying writing it, so there you go.

“You need…? Um. Yeah, maybe I’ll just… You okay with taking this one by yourself, Dean?” Sam asked, switching from serious but swaying bodyguard to embarrassed little brother in a microsecond. 

Big help, he was.

“What? Seriously? Sam, yeah, I can handle it,” he said, turning to Faith, “but why’d you need Cas to strip? Your sister only cut into his chest.”

Faith shrugged. “And the spell will likely be affecting his entire trueform. And his entire vessel. Your Mark doesn’t just affect your forearm, does it now?”

Dean jerked his gaze away from Faith, glancing at Sam and then Cas as though there was any chance they wouldn’t have heard the reminder. The looks on each of their faces said what a futile hope that was. He ducked his head and took a breath. The last thing he needed was either one of them to redirect their attention to the Mark of Cain right now. Sam had barely let up on it in living memory and Cas was at least as bad. If not for Seraphine forcibly thrusting Cas to the top of the to-do list, Dean would still be dealing with the pair of them running around trying to fix his impending demon-hood, no matter how much he protested about the pointlessness of it all. When he looked back at Faith, she almost looked sympathetic.

“Point taken,” he said gruffly, and stopped to clear his throat. “But I really don’t think you need to… Er. I mean.”

His gesture at Cas probably aimed more at the guy’s lap than it needed to and even Cas looked a bit uncomfortable at that. 

“I don’t need any barriers to my sight, Dean,” Faith said, in a tone of voice that said he was being juvenile. “Do you really think a Seraph is going to care about which parts of their vessel are on show? You do realise that social conventions have changed, and continue to change, across the world and across time.”

Dean looked to Sam for support, only to find that Sam had cleared out, apparently taking Charlie and Jodie with him. It was just the three of them left in the room. Cas was looking down at his own hands, effectively taking himself out of a conversation about his own life. And body. If the guy even really considered the human form he was in to be his body. Normally, it was something Dean managed not to spend much time thinking about. Cas was blue-eyes and scruffy dark hair and hands that looked capable of doing all sorts of things, and Dean’s mind was really not staying on track, here. The fact that Cas might not see himself the same way was… Well. Fucking weird. 

That time he’d carved into his own chest made a lot more sense if you thought about the flesh more as clothing than as an actual body. 

“Right.” Dean threw his hands up and half turned away, fighting the urge just to leave. He’d not leave Cas alone with this, though. If the angel wasn’t bothered by it, then Dean could deal. “Whatever you say.” 

He took the chance, while he was facing the other way, to run a hand over his own face, seeking to ground himself. A few breaths and some internal swearing and he was about steady enough to turn back to the table.

Where Cas was already shirtless.

Not like Dean hadn’t seen his friend only partly dressed a lot lately, but it was different when he was noticeably injured. This was more like sneaking a peek at someone. Well, all right, so it was more like that someone parading around half-dressed. 

Faith was digging through a bag she must have brought with her, setting bronze bowls and a wooden pestle and tiny jars of rich-coloured powders on the table, the books all having been swept to one side. She nodded calmly as Cas’ hands went to his belt.

“We’re nearly ready, Dean. I need your blood over here. Seraph, you may be more comfortable lying down.”

Did she expect Cas to lie on the table? Like some sort of offering?

“Dean?” Cas asked, a note of concern threading through his voice. Damn it, the guy was still standing there with his belt half undone.

“Uh. Right.”

Lurching forwards, Dean thrust his hand at Faith, who made a quick, sure incision and twisted his hand to keep it over the bowl as the blood welled up and dripped out. One. Two. Three drops.

She pressed a folded piece of white cloth over the cut and pushed his hand back at him, like it was something separate from Dean and might fall to the floor if not taken. 

Dean got the feeling he was meant to move away, leave her to it, but screw that. He stayed right where he was, peering over her shoulder at the mangled grindings of powders and what looked like bits of twig, mingling with his blood. It was as gross as magic always was. There was hair in there, and he didn’t want to know who it belonged to. At least there’d been no mention of babies’ bones. That was always a fun one. 

Movement caught his eye and dragged him out of his merry little diversion with being grossed out by the mixture. Cas was settling himself on the table. Totally naked. Which was…not uncomfortable at all. Not a bit. 

Dean cleared his throat again.

“So, what exactly’s going to happen, here?” he asked, his voice rougher than it should have been and his eyes fixed firmly on Faith and her bowl.

“First, I need to open the pathways.” She looked at Cas. “I’m sorry, Seraph, but that will sting.”

“I understand,” Cas replied, sounding like she’d just said he had to wait in line at a drycleaners or something.

“Wait. Sting how?” Dean asked. If Cas wasn’t going to care about himself then Dean would have to do it for him.

“I presume you will need to cut into my skin,” Cas said, as though it should have been obvious. And as though it wasn’t at all an issue.

Forgetting himself, Dean looked over at his friend, and fuck but that was a lot of skin. If Faith wanted to cut into all of it, that would take a while. He felt his cheeks flush with heat as he looked away. So he’d seen Sammy sans clothes enough times over the years, what with living in close quarters and practically raising the guy, but somehow, even with Cas having to have his wounds tended, he’d managed to set aside the idea that the angel could be this…this unclothed.

Bigger problem was that yet another nephilim wanted to slice into Cas.

“There no other way to do this?” he asked, his eyes firmly back on Faith and the dagger she’d pulled out of somewhere.

It was slim and silver. Dean felt his fingers itch. 

The only reason he hadn’t launched himself at Faith and wrestled that blade from her was that her eyes were calm and her movements about as smooth and gentle as they could be, under the circumstances. Now, she stilled and met Dean’s eyes.

“If you don’t give permission at the right time, I can’t do this. Once I start, you have to be ready to let me keep going, or I really will just have hurt your Seraph for nothing. I promise, if this works, the cuts shouldn’t be too deep or too hard to heal. Decide.”

“Dean.”

And Cas sounded almost pleading. Fuck it. Had to be hard on the guy, not having had any choice over the last lot of stuff done to him. At least Faith was giving a choice, even if she was saying Dean had to be the one to make it. The least Dean could do was go along with what Cas wanted. He could always pull her away if it got to be too much. The Mark pulsed at the thought. 

“Fine. Fine. Whatever. Just…get on with it.”

He turned away but swung back at once. He needed to see what she was doing, weird though it was.

Faith dipped the blade in the bowl, beginning a chant in a low tone. Cas jumped at the first word, but settled back, his jaw tense, like he was steeling himself for worse than he’d let on. To Dean’s discomfort, Faith climbed onto the table, kneeling next to Cas and leaning over him, still chanting. The first cut was shallow, right down the center of Cas’ torso, and a muscle in the angel’s jaw jumped. That was it. Stoic was a word Cas could define, when he wanted to.

After that, Faith sliced delicate patterns alone Cas’ ribs, on his upper arms, his shoulders. When she got to his throat, Cas flinched, turning his head and closing his eyes. Faith hesitated, not even looking at Dean, who had taken two strides to the table without even meaning to, and then, slowly, lifted her hand and set it on Cas’ chin, turning his head back until he was facing the ceiling. He didn’t resist, but Dean could feel the tension coming off the guy in waves. 

With her hand still on Cas’ chin, Faith drew the thinest line yet down the length of his throat. It was almost beautiful. And awful.

Dean could have sworn Cas relaxed as soon as the nephilim moved away from his throat, even though she slid down the table and made cuts on his thighs. Dean was having trouble not hissing in sympathy at each one.

Fine baubles of blood stood everywhere on Cas’ skin by the time Faith was finished, and she knelt once again by Cas’ torso, the knife set aside and the chanting stopped.

“Do you give permission?” she asked over her shoulder. She’d switched to English, but her intonation was odd, still sounding, somehow, like whatever language she’d been chanting in. Dean had the strange feeling it was her native tongue. 

“Er. Yeah. Yes. You have my permission.”

He had to force the words out, not wanting this for Cas, but it was what Cas wanted and he’d only just decided he would be more help to his friend. It was fucking hard watching him being carved into again, though.

At his words, Faith bowed her head, placing one hand in the center of Cas’ chest and the other on his stomach. Her chanting took off again, louder this time, more insistent. 

Cas started to glow. 

Around him, the table was tinted such a pure blue that it was almost white and lines of it crawled across the angel’s skin, into him. It was a network of something very much like grace, but it wasn’t burning Dean’s eyes. 

The lines traced shapes that seemed to warp and shimmer, somehow much larger the the body they wrapped through and around. Threads sprang out from Cas’ shoulders, arcing out and down and Dean felt his mouth drop open. Wings. That was the same shape as Cas’ wings. Which meant…were the shapes what Cas really looked like?

With that in mind, he tried to focus on them, but they wavered so much it was giving him a headache. He got the impression of immense size, wrapped up into a small space but no smaller itself, like…like fractals. He’d read about them in one of Sammy’s school books once. Shapes inside shapes, falling away into forever. 

It was elegant and horrifying and huge, and he felt he’d seen feathers and eyes and fangs and folded, intricate shapes he couldn’t describe, even to himself, even as he was seeing them.

One thing he could see: sharp cracks of crimson ran everywhere through the shapes, right down into the depths.

When the lights winked out, he was left with afterimages, superimposed on Cas’ body on the table, wrapping the angel up in wires that made him look tiny. If that really had been a glimpse of what he really was, how did Cas stand being cramped up in that human form? 

Dean had to blink dark spots out of his eyes and steady himself on the back of a chair, and by the time he was able to look at anything clearly again, Cas was on his feet and in his boxers, Faith standing with a hand under his right elbow, like she could really hold him up all by herself.

Then again, most human of nephilim or not, Dean had no real idea what she could or couldn’t do.

Cas looked drained.

“You need help there, buddy?” Dean asked, stepping forwards and taking hold of him from his other side. 

He nodded when Faith backed off. Wise move.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, easing Cas down into a chair and crouching next to him. The lines of blood were already closing up. Some side effect of the spell, perhaps. “How bad is it?”

Faith sounded like every doctor in every soap who’d had to deliver news of a terminal illness.

“It…could be better,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s spread further than I’d hoped.”

“Those red cracks, you mean?” Dean asked, and took a moment to realise both Cas and Faith were staring at him in what looked like consternation. “What? Am I right?”

“Yes,” Faith said slowly, “but you shouldn’t have been able to see that.”

She had that look on her face again, the one that said she wanted to study him. Well, one thing at a time.

“Can you fix it?”

He felt Cas reach for his hand and let the guy have it, squeezing his fingers. 

Faith sounded frustrated and regretful. “No. No, it’s too much. And…it’s not just the strain of his grace being bound. Your claim is being contested. That’s causing its own stress. We need to break one of those claims, or he has less time than I’d hoped.”

There was that talk of a claim again, but Cas was not his fucking pet, or his possession, and people had to stop speaking like he was, and… Another claim?

“What other claim?” he asked, ignoring for now how much he wanted to deny he had one. More than that, he ignored the feeling of rightness when it was said, like a part of him approved of having some hold over Cas.

“I think it must be Seraphine.” Faith sounded thoughtful and troubled. “But it goes against everything…”

“She had Cas skewered on a fucking hook,” Dean broke in. “You really think she cares about what anything goes against?” He felt Cas flinch that time, the tremour reaching Dean through his friend’s hand. “Sorry, man. You doing okay?”

Despite the stupidity of the question, Cas nodded, but he was still pale.

“You have to understand, Dean,” Faith said, her eyes also on Cas like she was taking note of his reactions, “what my sister did to your Seraph…that is bad. Really bad. But to stake a claim on one? No. That goes beyond the rest of it. I can’t even imagine… She would never. I just don’t know…”

Faith let out a frustrated noise and dug her hands into her own hair, twisting her fingers into the roots like it might help to anchor her in the moment and stop whatever running around her brain was doing. 

“It’s really that much worse?” Dean asked, not quite able to wrap his head around it.

“Does it surprise you, that certain acts are more taboo, more…heinous than others?” she asked, not looking at him. “You have a hierarchy of crimes in this culture, too. Anything done to a child is worse than something done to an adult, for instance. Sexual assault is worse than a beating.”

“It’s not like we have a list with points on,” Dean snapped. “Wrong is wrong.”

“Yes,” she said, closing her eyes and sounding like she was trying to keep her patience with a kid who just wasn’t getting it, “but you must know what I mean.”

Dean sighed, stroking his fingers along the back of Cas’ hand. She was right. He did sort of get what she meant. But if making a claim, whatever exactly that was, was worse than what had been done to Cas physically, then… 

What exactly did that mean he’d done to Cas?

“It was the potion,” Cas said, his voice distant and hollow. “I felt it grip at me, but I didn’t realise what it meant. Not then. It’s why she could control me, though. How she could make me hurt Sam.” 

Potion? Dean dredged up his memories of the images from the screen and remembered the bottle being tipped up at Cas’ mouth. Cas hadn’t wanted to drink it, had tried not to, but the contents had ended up down his throat in any case. 

“She made you drink something and now she owns you?” he asked, knowing he sounded disbelieving.

“Part of him,” Faith corrected. “Or…owns him at the same time that you do.”

And it must say something awful about Dean that he didn’t correct her choice of words this time. Compared to thinking that other nephilim had some stake in Cas, people throwing around the idea that Dean had some kind of rights to the guy didn’t sound so bad. As long as he stopped words like ‘slavery’ from floating up in his mind, at least. 

“And it won’t have just been a drink,” Faith went on, clearly thinking her way through. “I have a few ideas about how you could, in theory, contain a claim in liquid form, but I’m not the expert.”

“That would be your sister, I take it?”

“No,” Faith said, frowning. “My brother. I’m beginning to wonder exactly how Seraphine could do this alone.”

“You think another douche member of your family helped her? Your mum must be so proud,” Dean said, tightening his grip on Cas’ hand like that alone could keep the guy safe from a family of insane nephilim.

“My mother died a very long time ago,” Faith said. “She was human. More or less. My father was of the Host. And much though I can’t imagine Seraphine doing this, and it really isn’t like her, no matter your view of her, it pales into how impossible it is to see Drew playing any part in this. He has always insisted the Host should still be respected, despite everything.”

“Have you considered you maybe don’t know your family all that well?” Dean asked. “Because you’re right. I really don’t seem to have the same view of your sister that you do. And you said you could help. And all you’ve done is pin Cas down and take a knife to him, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’m not really interested in your breakdown over your siblings right now.”

Faith opened her eyes, her hands still in her hair, and stared at Dean as though she was only just seeing him.

“You’re right,” she said. “You are absolutely right. We have other things to worry about first. Then I can work on why she has done this. For now, we’re going to need to take your Seraph on a bit of a road trip.”

“To see this Drew?” Dean asked, and that had to be the least angelic name he’d heard yet. 

Faith nodded.

“Yes. Unfortunately, he won’t come somewhere he doesn’t know, so we’re going to have to go to him. If we can find him.”

“What, is he in the A-team?” Dean asked, the coil of unease in his chest only slightly held at bay by the quip.

“You could say that,” Faith said. “He’s the second oldest of us and he does not take kindly to the rest of us telling him what to do. We might need to go to the one person who has any chance of getting Drew to come when called.”

“Your father?” Dean was really trying to keep up, but this half-angel professor had a family almost as odd as Dean’s own. Maybe odder.

“No,” Faith said, as though he should have known that was stupid. “We haven’t seen or heard from my father since the Host turned their backs on us. We need to visit my oldest brother. Jay. The last I heard, he was in the States, and he prefers the orchard house. It’s only just over a day’s drive. So, are you ready for a trip?”

“You really think I trust you enough to let you lead us to some house?”

“I don’t think you trust me at all,” Faith replied calmly, almost coldly, “which is strange enough in itself, but I think you are beginning to realise just how fucked your Seraph is and I know this is the best chance you have to save him. Or would you prefer to watch him shatter? I am sure the lightshow his grace will make when it goes will be worth seeing.”

Cas’ hold didn’t tighten, but that was probably only because he was already gripping onto Dean like it was all that was keeping him tethered to the world. Dean felt himself give in.

“Fine. Fine, we’re going on a road-trip.” He smiled grimly. “It’ll be a blast.”


	28. Jay

The orchard house turned out to be some sprawling estate that took as long to drive through as some towns. Dean peered up at the trees hanging over the road and scowled. It felt like those branches were closing in, dropping lower the further the impala made it up the lane to the house, which Faith insisted was not much further.

“And your brother, Jay, he’s there, right?”

He did not want to have dragged Cas out here for nothing. Dean’s gaze flickered to the mirror, to where he could see Cas reflected in the rear-view mirror. His head was slumped, his whole body leaning into the corner, and what Dean could see of his skin was still far too pale. He’d suggested leaving Cas with Sam and the others, but Faith had claimed her brother would refuse to go to the bunker and that he’d need to see Cas.

Dean tried really hard not to believe he was driving Cas into a trap. If that Seraphine was at the place, he was taking Ruby’s knife to her, see if that did anything. Or the angel blade he had in the trunk. They killed almost anything. 

A final turn of the lane opened up the sky, the trees falling behind as the car swept out onto a final approach. Ahead, a white house wrapped around by a porch looked like it had sprung out of some Golden-age of Hollywood movie. 

“This is where he lives? How much is he worth?” 

“It doesn’t belong to him, Dean,” Faith said, her body oddly tense when Dean glanced over. “This has been in the family for some time. We share it.”

“Well isn’t that just lovely,” Dean said, but she didn’t react at all to his tone, her back straight and one hand clutching the door handle. “There anything I need to know before we go in?”

He really did not need to find out there was some family war going on after they’d shut themselves in that house. As the impala pulled to a stop, Dean turned to look at his passenger properly. She didn’t look back.

“Anything you need to know? Yes. Don’t piss him off. He’s older than your civilisation and hunters don’t impress him.”

She opened the door and slid out, pausing for a moment before leaning back in.

“And he believes any claim made on a member of the Host is abomination, so you may want to prepare for that.”

With that, she was gone, the door slamming shut in a way that would have made Dean curse even without the rest. She’d brought him to someone who would hate him on sight for something he’d had no clue he’d done? Hell, he still didn’t get how he’d staked this supposed claim. Cas certainly wasn’t talking. 

Since the spell Faith had pulled, Cas had been pretty much silent, not even always responding when Dean spoke. It was like something in him had cut loose. 

“Cas,” Dean said now, turning further to look at his friend in the back seat. “Cas! Hey, wake up, man. We’re here.”

His friend’s eyes blinked open and the guy looked around as though he wasn’t too sure where he was or how he’d blanked on getting here. After a moment, he looked at Dean, a long, glazed look as though he was trying to dredge up what he was meant to say.

“Um. Okay.”

And he opened the door and got out without waiting for anything more. 

“Well, okay, then,” Dean said, and clenched his hands around the steering wheel. Deep breath, in and out. They were here to get Cas sorted. They’d get this done and get out of here and it would all be fine. “Okay.”

By the time he got out of the car, Faith had vanished and Cas was standing partway to the house, staring up at the house with one of those far-reaching gazes he used to use on everything, his hands by his sides. That fidgeting Dean had been starting to get used to was just gone. Cas was right there, but ever since he’d stopped shaking from the spell, it had felt like he’d dwindled into the distance. 

“You sure about this, man?” Dean asked as he drew level. “We can ditch the professor and high-tail it out of here.”

Not that they’d have any leads left after that, but being here, away from Sam and the bunker, with Cas pulling more and more into himself and some ages-old nephilim who apparently would think Dean had committed a heinous crime was not sounding appealing. Not now he stood looking up at those high windows, stacked into three stories, each one seeming like a deadened eye.

Before Cas could answer, if he was going to, the front door opened and Faith popped her head back out, frowning at them when she saw them just standing there.

“Jay’s inside. He wants to meet you.”

It could have been Dean’s imagination, but her gaze lingered longer on Cas. 

He opened his mouth to ask again if Cas wanted to bail, but the angel moved forwards and up the steps without looking at Dean, as though drawn on by some signal Dean wasn’t getting. Cursing, he followed his friend up the steps and into what turned out to be a pretty nice hallway, all sweeping staircase and polished wooden floors. He felt instantly out of place. 

Faith stood near a doorway over to the left, looking prim and proper and far more an Ivy league educated type than she had even when she’d had her nose in those books. Or maybe she just looked rich. Hard not to see her as some trust-fund kid when she was standing in this house, dark hair hanging glossy and neat and her jacket trim. She even had one of those half-smiles rich people used to cover up their lack of real feeling. 

“In here,” she said, when she saw Dean pausing. 

Cas had barely slowed, and was past Faith and into the next room before Dean could catch him. He came to an abrupt halt part way across the room, his head tilting to the side, and it wasn’t until Dean was by his side that he saw what had brought Cas up short. 

The room was dominated by a fireplace, the kind that had no right to exist outside of some period drama or a Gothic horror movie, all carved stone lines and black metal. The thing even had sconces for candles wired to the wall above it. It should have swallowed up anything near it, but the guy standing in front of it, back straight and head up, pulled the eye despite it. He stood with his hands behind his back, like he thought this was some military gig, and he was looking at Cas with an expression Dean couldn’t read. Consternation, maybe? Disapproval? Awe? Something strained and powerful, in any case. Something that put Dean on edge. 

“Listen, Pal,” he started, but the man turned his head and met Dean’s eyes, and that was the end of talking. It was like being hit by the eye-version of a blow-torch. Anything he’d been about to say burned right up. “Er…”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Faith draw level with him, felt her hand ghost over his arm as though offering support. 

“You see the way of it,” she said, aiming her words at the man who must be her older brother. “We need your help if the Seraph is to live.”

“And why would I assist with that?”

They were less words than acid. God, Dean had been spoken to with less venom by the King of Hell, although the less he thought about that the better. The urge to take a step back was a lot damn higher than it should have been, especially when the guy, Jay, took a step away from the fireplace, towards Dean, his eyes hard and blazing. 

Fuck that. There was no way Dean Winchester was going to let some half-angel make him back down, not when he’d faced off against the Devil himself, against more than one angel who fancied themselves God. 

“Your sister here seemed to think you’d give a damn that Cas was at risk of going nuclear. She wrong? ‘Cos she sure seems to have it backwards about that sister of yours. You gotta tell me, man… She got the wrong idea here?”

Jay’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at Faith briefly. Whatever he saw there made him frown. 

“You are working against one of my sisters,” he said, stating it as fact. Perhaps Faith had filled him in while Dean was still getting Cas out of the car. That, or they had some freaky telepathy thing going on. “And with the other. Tell me why I should choose the side which has chained one of my father’s people? No.” He turned and moved away, pacing to a side-table and pouring a drink into a cut-glass tumbler before looking back at Dean. In the silence, no-one else moved. It felt heavy and dense in the room. 

Jay lifted his glass in Cas’ direction.

“If you know what you have done to him, then I don’t suppose you care how much he suffers. If you do not know…” A swallow of the bourbon underscored the guy’s words.

“If I don’t know?” Dean prompted, his heart painful in his chest, the pulse of it juddering in his throat. He was sick of hearing how much he was making Cas suffer from something he hadn’t even known he’d done. The Mark throbbed in time with his heart; he was so close to letting it have its way, to taking Cas’ angel-blade and seeing how well it worked on these bastardised half-angels. Bound to work. The things killed people. They killed angels. Made sense they’d take these out, too. Then Dean could stop hearing about this, could go back to the Bunker, to Sam, and…and watch Cas splinter. If he was being told the truth. Swallowing his rage, he tried again. “If I don’t know, then what?”

It took another drink before Jay answered. When Dean opened his mouth to demand answers, Faith’s hand tightened on his arm, making him fall silent. Finally, the glass was empty and the older Nephilim set the glass down with a click, speaking over his shoulder to Dean.

“If I assume you have no idea what you are doing, what this binding is doing, and that you honestly wish for him to be healed, then I must assume you do not wish him pain. In which case, the kindest thing to do is to let him die. To help him die.”

Dean shot a look at Cas, who was standing passively, as though they were talking about something else entirely, his face still blank. 

“Help him?” he spat. “Murder him? Fuck you. She brought us here so you could get in touch with someone to figure out a cure, not so you could suggest we finish him off!”

“Not murder,” Jay corrected, still not facing Dean. Not facing Cas. Maybe he couldn’t stand to look at the man he was saying they should kill. “It would be a mercy. A kindness.”

Only Faith’s hold on him stopped Dean from lunging at the dick, with his crystal glasses and carved mantel and giant house. She had to be nearly as strong as Cas. 

“Let go of me!”

“No.” 

Jay left the side-table and crossed to them, that hardness still in his eyes. He stopped just in front of Dean, looking up at him. The guy was just an inch or so shorter, but it felt like he filled up all of the space. 

“Heed my sister, Hunter,” he said, his voice grave and steady, still with that undercurrent of something cutting. “I know a little of what you have done, what you have faced. You are capable of greatness, but I have survived for a very long time and I have done so with the Host out for my blood. You do not want to go up against me.”

“I don’t want to stand here and listen to you say we should… We should…”

“Dean,” Cas said, speaking for the first time since they’d entered the house and sounding like he was only half-awake. “You should listen to him.”

“Listen to…?” Yanking his arm out of Faith’s grip, and ignoring his own flare of surprise when it worked, he spun to face his friend. Cas’ face was still lacking in expression, still so still that it was like looking back to just after they’d first met, but there was something of the Cas he’d come to know in the guy’s eyes. It was just another blow after many to realise what made Cas’ gaze familiar was at least partly the pain in his eyes. “You have heard what he’s said, right? The guy wants to end you!”

“No,” Cas said. “No, he doesn’t. He can’t. He wants you to kill me.”

“How is that better?” 

“I did not say it was better.” But Cas had dropped his eyes, had paused before he’d spoken. “It…it just means you don’t have to worry that he will do it. He can’t. I’ve told you. Only you can.”

The frustration finally broke. Throwing his arms out, Dean glared at all of them, Cas included, and let his anger lash out in his voice.

“How does that work? Because, Cas, I gotta tell you, I remember you dying more than once. Didn’t seem to have to be me any of those times, so why now? What makes now so special? Huh?”

In the silence after that outburst, he had time to see Faith and Jay exchange a look he couldn’t read. He thought one of them might speak, but they both deferred to Cas, actually stepping back a pace when the angel reached out as though to grasp Dean’s shoulder. He never made contact, letting his hand fall back to his side and shaking his head. Some of the newer Cas was breaking through again, but it felt forced, sluggish, like he was having to remember how to be the more human version of himself.

“Those times, I was dead, but I didn’t stay dead. The Nephilim, Seraphine, already explained. You can end it entirely, make sure I don’t come back. Dean… I…” 

Cas closed his eyes, shaking his head again. Dean got the weirdest feeling that the angel was trying to shake some thought out, something he didn’t want stuck in his head. 

“You are not seriously suggesting that you want that?” Dean felt the world dropping out from under him. They’d been here before, more or less, but he’d thought… “Come on, I thought we were past that. I thought you were past that. You told that triage-Angel you wanted to live. I thought you’d dropped that whole…what was it…punishment resurrection idea.”

Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“Well, maybe it would mean I would stop causing more harm than I can fix. But it doesn’t matter. Dean, if we can’t find a way to stop this, I’m going to die anyway. This is taking time you don’t have. Time away from finding a cure for the Mark-”

“Oh, no. No, you don’t. We are not playing at who gets to be a martyr, not today, Cas. We will find a way to stop the Mark, we will, but I need you on my team. We sort you first, the Mark after. This is not a negotiation. I am not killing you. You hear me? Did you not hear me, back when we were after the tablet? I need you, man. I need you hear, alive and kicking, not all…ashes and burned out vessel.”

Even with his gaze fixed on Cas, who was still looking at the ground, Dean could make out Jay moving closer.

“You actually care about him,” Jay said, sounding shocked and wondering. “You want him, not his power.”

“I told you, Brother,” Faith said, and there might have been a hint of smugness in the tone that could only mean a sibling who’d scored a point. “It’s not the way these things have been in the past. This is not a grab for power. I believe him when he says he didn’t even know he’d done this. Dean is not the enemy.”

“Enemy or not, he still has Castiel caged.” 

The way he said it, Cas’ name, had that same curl to it that Seraphine had used. It sounded in Dean’s mind in a way he couldn’t explain, like some code he didn’t get. It also brought Cas’ head up, his expression sharper, to stare right at Jay.

“I know you,” Cas said, as though just making the discovery. Maybe he was. 

Jay met the angel’s gaze and for far longer than Dean was happy with they just…stayed like that. Just as he was about to break in, Cas switched to Faith, his brow crinkling.

“And you.”

“Of course you know her, Cas,” Dean said, worry spiking. Was he losing it? “She was at the bunker. Faith. Doctor in knife-heavy spells.”

“No,” Cas ground out. “I didn’t know you then, but I knew you. Before. In the past. When?”

“Hang on. You said you didn’t know her,” Dean said, trying to get a hold of the conversation again. 

“I told you, I didn’t.”

Which was no help at all. 

Before he could make any other effort to pin this down, Jay took over, moving close enough to Cas that they were eye-to-eye. There was something softer in his eyes when he looked at Cas.

“We were in Sanktapor, Castiel. The city of Nephilim. And so were you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just pressed delete instead of add chapter - that was scary. No harm done.
> 
> Not been in a great head-space, so updating may remain patchy. We'll see. Anyway, here you are.


	29. Our Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter, but I feel that this sort of conversation needs to happen. More action soon...

Cas’ head lifted, the thousand-mile stare he did so well switching from Jay to Faith.

“She mentioned that place. It’s the city, the city I…remember.” 

He didn’t sound sure, a faint tremour in his words telling Dean everything he needed to know about how solid Cas was feeling right now. Even through the fog the angel seemed to have settled in, there was a sense of the ground cracking underfoot. Dean didn’t want to know what would happen if the cracks grew too wide, too deep. 

“Yeah,” Dean said, stepping closer to Cas and turning to bring himself shoulder-to-shoulder with his friend: a solid front. He could do that, at least. He couldn’t do what they were suggesting, he couldn’t, but he could stand with Cas. “I’m thinking you should get to explaining that.”

Faith met his stare and shrugged. Shrugged. Like she was suddenly not involved in this. Jay was still looking at Cas.

“The memories should not come from us,” the Nephilim said. “It is better for them to arise on their own.”

At that, Faith shook her head, reaching out and touching a hand to Jay’s arm. She only said one word. She only had to say one word.

“Naomi.”

Dean was close enough to feel Cas tense. Or maybe he just assumed that was the reaction. That name never filled Dean with joy. 

“She can’t have wiped everything,” Jay said, his voice firm. “That isn’t how it works. You know this, Sister. The memories will be buried, covered. Not gone. We simply need to find a thread and pull it.”

Dean grimaced, holding up a hand.

“Hold up. You’re talking as though Cas is…is some scarf you’re gonna unravel. You think this is funny? How about you take this, whatever it is, seriously and actually do something useful here. Just tell us what the fuck you’re going on about, already.”

The Nephilim shared a look again. Dean was getting tired of those looks. 

“Very well,” Jay said, at last, and it seemed like something in the guy loosened up, like he’d just given himself permission to stop skirting around the issue. “If that is what you want.” And it was clear he was asking Cas.

Who hesitated.

“Cas? Hey, come on, man,” Dean said. “We need answers here. Tell the kid to spill.” 

Cas’ eyes flickered to Dean and away, as though they had trouble latching on, and Jay looked to be tracking the whole exchange. There was an air about him like he was going to step in. Like he wanted to, anyway. But he stayed quiet, waiting, until Cas sighed and nodded.

“Yes. Yes, tell me, tell us, what you mean. I…I remember the city. Parts of it, anyway. Temples and homes and walls. I remember hundreds of people. I know I…” Cas broke off, the pinched look on his face speaking of pain. 

Faith nodded, patting at her brother’s arm before moving away and gesturing at them to follow.

“Come,” she said. “This will be more comfortable where we can sit. This room has always been a favourite of Jay’s, but it’s not exactly set up for sitting and talking.”

She wasn’t wrong. Other than the sideboard, there didn’t seem to be any other furniture in the room. These Kirkwoods were odd. Probably used it for sketchy meetings or something. 

Despite the images of shady goings-on at nigh-on cult-like family meetings, Dean let Faith lead him out of the room and back into the house, past the stairs. He made sure Cas was flanking him. She ushered them into a smaller room, down a short set of steps, a room with settees set up around a low table, lamplight illuminating the space. 

“It’s good to have somewhere less formal to talk, don’t you think?” she said, and pointed Dean to the settee on the right.

He sat, Cas beside him. He was pretty sure he saw Jay, who’d followed right behind them, frown at that, but screw him. Cas was Dean’s friend. As far as Dean knew, these people had been causing Cas problems for thousands of years. No reason knowing someone had to mean you were allies, let alone friends. He was taking a lot on faith that they were telling the truth, here.

The siblings settled across from Dean and Cas, and there was something about the way Faith was sitting, the way Jay was looking at Cas, that hinted they weren’t as calm and confident as they made out. Not about this. Whatever the reason, the outcome mattered, here.

“You can’t rely on anything you remember,” Jay said, and the commanding tone in his voice was layered up with something extra, some scrap of gentleness. Was this his version of breaking something to Cas gently? To tell him he couldn’t trust anything in his own head? “I never met Naomi. But I saw her. Heard her. I certainly heard about her. She believed utterly in what she was doing, even back then, and she was thorough.”

“Naomi was in your city?” Cas asked. There was just a thread running through his words, something Dean doubted most people would hear. Cas was shaken. “Why?”

Faith broke in, leaning forwards, one hand shifting out as though she wanted to…pat Cas, or something. 

“Her role has always included keeping the Host in line. Keeping them healthy and fit, it used to be said. It is a long time since we were warned what that meant.”

“You mean, getting inside the angel’s heads?” Cas asked, as though he was something other than an angel. The way he lifted a hand and pressed it to his temple, though, was all the clue Dean needed that his friend was attaching this whole thing to himself. Probably imagining Naomi digging around inside his skull.

“Yes,” Jay took up, the Nephilim switching between themselves smoothly. “We didn’t know at first. We’d always been taught that the Host, especially the higher ranks, were pure and good and working to defend God’s children. All of them. At the time, we were told that included us. But…” He lost some of that confidence, seeming like he really didn’t want to go on. 

“But then we realised some of the Seraphim who visited our city were remembering events differently,” Faith said. “They would return from Heaven and there would be patches in their minds, hazy areas, where our accounts didn’t match theirs, even if they had before. The first time I noticed it, the angel involved forgot details of a battle.” She paused and took a breath, her gaze seeming to turn inward. “To be honest, if I could alter my memories of that slaughter, I would.”

“Then they turned on you?” Dean asked. Part of his ming was spinning. The idea that Faith, sitting there looking like she was anywhere from mid-20s to late 30s, could be so old… Not the point, though. Not right now. 

“No,” Jay said. “No. Not yet. We brought our discovery to angels we trusted.” He might as well have handed Cas a name-badge, the way his eyes lingered on the angel at that one. “Between us, we decided Naomi had altered the memories to preserve the angels’ health, although we weren’t entirely sure why those angels had been…adjusted, when others had not.”

“When you had not,” Faith added, apparently ignoring the warning look her brother shot her. 

Did the guy think he was being subtle? He might as well just tell Cas he’d been one of the angels they’d trusted. Wasn’t like Cas was stupid. The guy was going to work it out, if he hadn’t already. Only reason to think Cas was being slow on the uptake was that this all had to be a mind-fuck for him. 

Tired of it, Dean took over.

“You’re saying Naomi started making changes to angels’ minds, and you all decided it was for the good of their health? Really? And Cas agreed with that?”

He felt Cas shift next to him and glanced over, but the angel still wasn’t giving much away. His mouth was tight, his eyes narrowed, but that wasn’t exactly rare. He didn’t seem surprised at Dean confirming he’d worked out Cas had been in the trust circle.

“Castiel was less certain,” Jay said carefully, and Dean got the feeling that ‘less certain’ was the same as saying the Apocalypse had been less than fun. “But others argued that those affected were otherwise fine, that they still held the city and its inhabitants in high regard. It was agreed we shouldn’t worry unduly.”

Cas had his hand at his temple again, this time with an obvious wince.

“You okay?” Dean asked. “Because we can take a break. Do this later.”

“No. No, I need to hear this,” Cas said, but the pained look had settled on his face like it meant to camp there forever. The angel turned his gaze on Jay. “I expressed my doubts.” It was half a question.

Jay nodded.

“Yes. Firmly. Anael advised caution, but he had another child on the way and we could see he wanted answers. When you agreed to find them, we thought we would reach a solution soon. One way or the other. You did not fail in your missions.”

Dean had to break in again.

“Anael? Wait, as in Anna?” He barely waited for all three of them to nod, as though it was obvious and not worth the time to mention. “But you said ‘he’? Anna wasn’t a dude.”

“No,” Cas said, and for the first time since Faith had cast the spell, a little of his familiar irritation shone through. “Anna was a Seraph. You’ve seen angels take vessels of different genders before, Dean. It isn’t important.”

Despite the situation, a mental picture of Cas’ eyes in the face of a woman swam across Dean’s head. Even in an uncalled for flash of imagination, the same intent look was in the angel’s eyes. 

“Yeah. All right.” Even though it was a lot harder to get his head around that than it apparently was for the rest of them. He should be better at that, what with seeing demons and, yes, angels switching out bodies over the years. It was just that the name ‘Anna’ was so tied up with red hair and delicate features in his head, so tied up with…well, that night in the impala. “So, Cas went on a mission to check out Naomi. And?”

“And,” Faith said, “when he returned he reported it was fine. We had no reason to be concerned.”

“We didn’t believe him,” Jay said, tone flat. “In the end, we were right. I wish it had been different.”

“What did I do?” Cas asked. 

Dean resisted the impulse to reach over and grab Cas’ hand. The guy sounded like he was bracing himself for the worst, to be told he’d betrayed and slaughtered. But Faith was shaking her head.

“It was not your fault,” she said, voice firm. “Your words reassured many that we had worried for nothing, but I doubt you could have changed anything. Naomi recalled more and more of the Host, and more and more of those we had called friends, even family, became distant. You didn’t. Never. You were amongst those who stayed with us, in spirit when you couldn’t be there in person.”

“But it wasn’t enough,” Cas said. Something about his tone almost sounded like was joining in with the remembering. 

“No,” Jay said, “it wasn’t. There came the day we looked around and realised hardly any Seraphim resided in the city. Shortly after, we found we were declared abomination. At that point, you still knew who we were, and you stood with those who defended us.”

“You save us, Castiel,” Faith added, “Gabriel was boxed in on the other side of the city, Anael had retreated to the temple. I found myself trapped between two houses, in a courtyard, with no back-up and no way to avoid Uriel. It was the shock, partly. He had been a friend. An…uncle. He had children of his own, yet there he was, trying to kill me. I begged him to stop, but his eyes…” Faith stopped and sat back, rubbing her hands in circles over her own knees, like she needed to ground herself. She was shakier than Dean had seen her before. “He didn’t know me.”

“Uriel?” Cas asked, and Dean couldn’t tell what emotion was making its way into that word. Something heavy.

“Yes,” Faith said. “And he was a great fighter. I stood no chance against him. Jay, perhaps, could have bested him, or… Well. I have said already that I am the least angelic of my siblings. I am far from the strongest of any Nephilim. I have known great fighters amongst humans, as well, but I have always been more at home in other areas, despite having seen battle, and this was… I would have died. Most certainly.” She met Cas’ eyes. “And then you were there. And I lived.”

With a deep breath, Cas nodded, as though to confirm to himself that he had heard the words correctly.

“I save you,” he said, sounding dazed. “Against Uriel. And…you said Gabriel was there?”

“Yes,” Jay said. “Gabriel was our chief defender. It was he who arrived ahead of Raphael’s forces, to warn us we had lost our status with the Host. I am only sorry that we couldn’t save his daughter. After that…”

“He not want to play once his girl was gone?” Dean asked, having trouble with the whiplash from hearing so many names in a story he hadn’t known existed. 

“Far from it,” Jay answered. “He wanted, very much, to help us, but it took so much of his energy to hide us, to cast a spell that hid us from the Host, and he was grieving. He slipped away a mere hundred years or so after, and we have not seen him since.”

“Sorry to break it to you,” Dean said, “but Gabriel, he’s gone.”

He’d never felt quite so bad about saying that, even with the guy having gone up against Lucifer, come the end. He’d still been kind of a dick. Hearing about him defending his kid, though, about him defending other angels’ kids even when his was gone, made a difference. Cas looked to be rethinking a few things, too.

Jay closed his eyes for a moment, then took one of his sister’s hands. She set her other hand on top and lowered her head.

“Sad news,” Jay said. “I have long hoped to meet with him again. We owe him a debt. A great debt.”

Dean let several moments go by in the silence that followed, but there were larger, more recent concerns to be dealt with.

“You were on your own after that?”

“No. No, we were not.” Jay nodded at Cas. “Castiel promised us his protection. When all of the others had left, through brainwashing or other duties or simply being tired of rebelling against the word from Heaven, Castiel was our shield” As Cas frowned, Jay met his eyes. “For hundreds of years, we turned to you when we had need. You couldn’t be with us always. It was a delicate path, keeping Naomi and her agents from realising your mind was still your own, staying free so that you could return to us when we needed you, but you did it. You swore to keep us safe, and we stayed safe.”

“I don’t… I don’t remember,” Cas said, his voice almost a whisper. “I wish I could remember.”

“So do I,” Faith said, and this time it was more the way you’d speak to a long-lost friend. Or relative. Dean suddenly felt he was intruding. “I really wish you could remember some of the times we had. I wish you could remember how much we owe you. Perhaps then you would understand why I want to help you, why I am horrified and confused that my own sister would do what she has done, even with…” She didn’t look at Dean, but it wasn’t necessary. That fucking bond thing again. “In any case,” Faith went on, “We have missed you. I have missed you. And you are here now.”

“And it is time the rest of us were here,” Jay said. “I have considered what you want, Sister. I will summon Drew. We can’t let our Seraph be hurt by one of our own.”

Jay stood, drawing Castiel up with him simply by looking, and as soon as the angel was on his feet, the Nephilim stepped forwards, his arms open, and pulled Cas into a hug. He held on tightly, the way Dean imagined clinging on to Bobby if he saw him again, and his eyes were definitely damp when he pulled back.

“I am sure you have many more questions,” he said, “but for now, I need to bring Drew here. Perhaps he will also be able to help with getting your memories back. Faith is right. We have missed you.”


	30. Green eyes

“How you holding up?” Dean asked, pausing in the doorway and raking his eyes over Cas.

Cas looked up from the chair he was still sitting in, not seeming to realise he was rubbing a slow circle over his own chest, right over the breastbone, even as he met Dean’s eyes. His eyes were clouded again. 

“Cas?” Dean stayed where he was, leaning slightly against the doorway, a mug of coffee in his hand, but he was tensed and ready to leap into any action he could think of if Cas keeled over.

Instead, the guy squinted up at Dean, tilting his head back slightly. The step up to the hallway did mean Dean was towering over Cas more than he normally did, especially with his friend sitting down. He looked small in that chair. His voice was small when he finally shook himself enough to answer.

“I’m fine,” Cas said, his gaze already drifting away as he finished the second word. His hand still rubbed those circles.

“Yeah. Right,” Dean said, pretty much to himself, and stepped down into the room to take the settee. Might as well. Their hosts were off somewhere else in the house.

Jay had been gone for over an hour, with Faith insisting that was normal when getting in touch with Drew. She left Dean with the hazy idea that Drew wasn’t being contacted by phone or email. Faith herself had disappeared about twenty minutes back, after showing Dean the kitchen and telling him to make himself at home. He’d rustled up a snack, but hadn’t been able to get Cas to eat. Or move from that chair. Or speak beyond a few words.

For at least the fifth time, Dean checked his phone, almost hoping for a text from Sam saying he was on his way, despite agreeing to stay back with Jodie and the others. Nothing. It was just Dean and an almost silent Cas, then. Great. It was starting to feel like he was chaperoning the guy to the weirdest family reunion going, and Dean had met his own mom back before he was even born. 

He sat back and sipped his coffee, watching Cas, watching Cas’ hand circling, the long fingers pressing in. Something must be hurting, or at least feeling off, but if Dean didn’t know what it was then he couldn’t very well help. Instead, he just had to sit here, doing nothing. 

He drummed the fingers of his free hand against one knee. More coffee was probably a bad idea. There had to be something stronger to drink around a pile like this. He could always go and try some of Jay’s hard stuff from the other room. 

“Why was I there?” Cas asked.

Dean jumped. It took a moment to pull it together; this place, the whole situation, had him on edge.

“You what?” 

Real coherent. When Cas didn’t answer, he tried again.

“Why were you where, Cas?”

At least he’d stopped rubbing circles into his own chest, but his hand was still pressed against his coat, still rumpling the beige fabric, creasing it. He wasn’t looking at Dean.

“In that city. Why would I be there?”

Dean shrugged. 

“I don’t know, man. I mean, you’ve always liked watching humanity, right? What was it you called them, years ago? Works of art? Something like that. Maybe you were just…sightseeing.”

Cas was already shaking his head.

“No. No, that doesn’t seem right. The others they mentioned…Uriel, Anael. Gabriel. They all had reason to be there.”

It had been niggling at Dean, too, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up.

“You mean families? Kids?” Somehow, Cas managed to become even stiller, the fact he wasn’t looking at Dean more noticeable. It suddenly felt really important to pick the right words. “What exactly are you thinking, Cas?”

“I find myself…wondering…” Cas paused and met Dean’s eyes. There was something almost pleading in them. “Dean, do you think-”

Cas cut off as footsteps sounded in the hallway, his gaze darting away from Dean so quickly it was almost as though he’d never been looking. When Faith appeared in the doorway, bracing herself with a hand on either side of the door-frame and leaning in, the angel looked up at her with an expression Dean was almost sure no-one but him, and probably Sam, would know was a mask. 

“He’s on his way,” Faith said. “Drew will be here by the morning. He’s looking forwards to seeing you, Castiel.”

“He think he can help?” Dean asked, when it became obvious Cas wasn’t going to speak. “You did tell him, right? What we’re up against?”

“Jay told him,” Faith confirmed. And didn’t seem like she intended to say anything else about that. Letting go of the door, she took the couple of steps to the couch and perched on the arm, making Dean lean away to avoid pressing up against her. “We need to get you two settled for the night. I’ve found sleep is useful when wanting to pass the time.”

“Sleep? Really?” Dean asked, caught between the jittery urge to be up, to be pacing and doing and fighting, and the longing to just sink down into a bed and switch off. “You not got anything more useful we can be doing? What, you and that ages old brother of yours got nothing to add to this?”

Faith tilted her head, the look on her face bringing home to Dean how long she’d lived. 

“I think we’ve done enough for now, don’t you?”

Looking over at Cas, he saw his friend was caught in a still-life, with that look in his eyes that said he hadn’t been tuned into the local station properly for a while. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Yeah, maybe you have. So, where you having us bed down?”

“I’ll show you.”

Cas followed without much prompting, but he didn’t seem interested in where they were going. Instead, his attention, when it shifted from whatever place he was looking at in his mind, seemed to be on Faith, tracing over her like there were clues to be read if he looked long enough and in the right way. Perhaps he was trying to jolt his memory. 

Dean doubted the woman had looked like she did now all the way back when. At the very least, the smart jacket and the rest of her get-up wouldn’t have been in fashion. And did Nephilim take vessels, like angels? Or was that really her? It hadn’t come up. He had the shaky idea the kids’ of angels got their very own bodies. Had people really been so tall back then? He was sure he’d seen on some documentary playing late one night that people in the past had been shorter. 

He was jolted out of his musings by Faith stopping and pushing a door on the second floor open. 

“Here,” she said. “You should be able to find some rest before Drew arrives. I have to warn you, he tends to be a little…full on. You really will want to get some sleep prior to meeting him. I’ll leave you to get settled. You remember where the kitchen is if you need anything.”

And she was gone before Dean could even get a look at the room. Singular. 

“All right, then,” he said, and practically pushed Cas into the room. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”

Twin beds made the place look more like a motel room than a private house. Well, hotel. It was too nice, too plush, for most of the motels Sam and Dean had stayed in. And there wasn’t any weird theme to add character to the place. It was just…pleasant. Calm. Greens and blues and browns. Probably had some fancy name, like ‘mocha melancholy’ or some shit, but it was nice.

“Which bed do you want?” he asked over his shoulder as he moved further into the room and caught sight of the view from the window. He could see the orchards. They could make a fortune setting this place up as a bed and breakfast. Assuming Jay could keep people out of his bourbon. 

“I don’t mind,” Cas said, sounding subdued.

Dean turned to see his friend still in the doorway. 

“Come on. Get in here and choose a place to sleep. You look dead on your feet. And you sure you don’t want something to eat? Or I can get you some coffee? You like coffee.”

And God, he sounded like an old married guy, telling his other half what they liked to drink. He’d feel better if Cas had something, though, what with the whole eating and sleeping thing going on again. What if he couldn’t tell he was hungry and just…passed out? The guy had been human, sure, but being human and having some weird binding thing going on with his grace were not the same. The signals might be getting screwed up.

“No. No, I think maybe sleeping is the best choice.”

And with that he finally walked across the carpet to the bed closest to the door and stared at it, as though just looking was part of the process. 

“It isn’t dark,” Cas said, after a pause.

“No kidding. But Faith’s right. Some sleep might be a good idea, and if nothing else is happening and you don’t want to eat, then…”

He spread his arms, palms up, to indicate the giant pile of nothing they had to do just then. 

“I want more answers,” Cas muttered. “And they could give them.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you,” Dean said. “Pretty sure they aren’t going to say anything else until this Drew gets here, and I gotta say I agree. It looks like it’s taken enough out of you, hearing what you have. Now, I get it. I really do. You want to know and you want to know now, but you have been through a lot. Get some sleep, give it time to settle, and we’ll make sure they fill in the gaps tomorrow. All right? They refuse then, and you want to force the issue, I am right there with you. But let’s do it when you’re rested.”

Still looking at the bed, Cas nodded, and shed his coat. 

He left it over the back of a chair in the corner and added his jacket to the pile before Dean had caught up with the fact Cas had been persuaded, the shirt half-undone before Dean nodded and looked away.

“All right, then. I’ll just go and…get our stuff from the car.”

“You mean that stuff?” Cas asked.

Dean looked around to see a couple of duffel bags, their bags, on the dresser against the far wall, and couldn’t help but frown. Someone had been in his car without asking. Still, it was easier than traipsing downstairs right then. 

By the time he’d dragged what he needed for the night out of the bag, Cas was already in bed, his dark hair feathering out slightly around his head. Looking at him like that, in bed when he shouldn’t need to sleep, made Dean all the more determined to find a cure for this thing, whatever it really was. 

It was going to be hard to sleep when he was feeling this thrumming need to solve things right then, whatever he’d said to Cas about resting. 

“Hey, er, I’m just going to head down for a glass of water. You want anything?”

Cas shook his head, his eyes still closed, and Dean left his friend in bed.

Downstairs, it didn’t take long to find Faith. She was out on the back porch, sitting on the kind of bench seat that swung back and forth. She didn’t look round as Dean closed the back door behind him, but she did pat the seat beside her.

“I thought you’d be back down. How is he?”

“Tired. Confused. In bed.”

“Good. I hope he rests. Although…” She trailed off.

“Strange to see him needing to?”

“You have no idea.”

He swallowed the impulse to list off some of the things he’d seen Cas do. After all, he’d also seen the guy with waning powers, completely cut off from heaven, and human, so he had more experience with this kind of thing than Faith seemed to. If she’d only ever known Cas as a fully powered-up Seraph, this had to be a whole new flavour of weird. Still, wasn’t like she had a monopoly on caring. 

“So, what was he like, anyway? Back in the day?” Dean asked, keeping his voice low, as though Cas might overhear him otherwise. 

Faith was quiet for long enough he wasn’t sure she was going to answer, then folded her hands together and leaned forwards to rest her elbows on her knees, peering out into the late afternoon light. Cas had been right, it really wasn’t dark yet. She was just as quiet when she answered.

“It’s hard to say. You have to remember, we knew him over hundreds of years. He had more than one vessel in that time. Back then? Same colour eyes. Most of his true vessels have those. Some trait in the line, just like Gabriel’s always had these golden eyes. I liked those.”

Ignoring the wistful comment about Gabriel, Dean tried to keep her on track. He’d found more than once that chatting about small details got people talking about more important stuff without realising it. 

“Most had blue eyes? So not all? Can’t quite picture Cas with brown eyes.”

“Green,” she said. “One of his vessels had green eyes. And he had really fair hair.”

“Fair hair? Really? That…that does not sound right at all.” 

A corner of her mouth twitched.

“I know. It didn’t seem right then, either. Thankfully, he only kept that vessel for a few years. Mind you, the next one was a woman with grey hair and pale-blue eyes. She said yes as long as Cas saved her village from demons. That was during a whole period when we basically played the role of hunters, back before your Men of Letters started up. And Cas was having trouble finding a true vessel after he was forced out of his previous one by a skirmish with Raphael.” 

There was far too much in that statement to take it all in at once. 

“With Raphael? He was fighting that guy for years, huh?”

“He got reconditioned at least three times,” Faith said. “It never took. To be honest, I found myself wondering why Raphael didn’t just have Castiel executed. He might not have known Castiel was protecting us. As far as I’m aware, the Host genuinely believed my kind had perished. But there were too many times when orders weren’t followed, when humans and others were protected against orders. It only got worse as the brainwashing became stronger across the Host.”

“Stronger how?”

Faith shifted, looking like she was taking a few moments to think. 

“Stronger…in that the angels we did meet, the ones we could speak to without risking our cover, changed. They started referring to each other as ‘brother’ and ‘sister’, but they acted more and more like soldiers to each other, even the ones who had been really close before. It was crazy. Like a cult.”

“You mean, they weren’t always like that?” Dean asked, and if anything that was weirder than hearing Cas had been protecting some Nephilim, or that he’d had green eyes for a while. Most of the angels had been like programmed soldiers, the whole time Dean had known they existed. Cas used words like ‘family’, but it had never rung quite true.

“Not at all.” Faith sat back, meeting his eyes, and there was pain there. Sorrow. Pity. “Naomi, whoever was pulling her strings, warped the whole way the Host saw themselves, and each other. As I said, it never seemed to take with Cas, and then…”

“Then what?”

“Then one day we lost him.”

She looked away, but not before Dean saw the tears in her eyes. 

“Look,” she said, wiping at her eyes with her right hand as she stood, keeping her face averted, “I know you have questions, and I’m sure he does. One thing about Castiel, he was always curious. Interested in everything. You know? But…this hurts more than I thought it would and I need… I need to not think about it for a while. Can we do this another time?”

“You don’t think he deserves answers?” Dean asked, not making any move to stop her from leaving. There was an air of quiet over this whole conversation that almost passed for peace.

“He does, yes, but I don’t like the pain some of those answers will cause him. You? I believe that you care for him, that you haven’t just snared him as some sort of…weapon. But that doesn’t mean I’ve fully worked you out. And you have to understand that when I look at you, I see someone who has the trust and love and loyalty of one of the only beings I have ever relied on, and I don’t know whether the bond you two have is going to kill him, so… Just let me have some time right now. Okay?”

She didn’t wait to hear his answer, though. The back door banged shut, cutting the strange quiet short, and Dean ended up sitting on the swing-seat by himself, too drained to chase her, until it really was dark.


	31. Drew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop ate this chapter, so I have typed it right out again and not even done as much of an edit as I normally do, which is always a bit limited. So please excuse the inevitable typos etc.

Shouting dragged Dean awake, bringing him through layers of groggy half-sleep and bolt upright into consciousness within a few moments.   
“What the fuck is that?” he demanded, shoving the covers away from his legs, where they’d tangled themselves like nightmares around his thighs, and glaring at Cas, who stood near the door, already dressed with his head tilted as though that would help him to hear better. Maybe it would. Cas’ powers had always been a bit of a mystery, with some random extra thing being pulled out of the box when needed. It would really help if angels came with an instruction manual. “That the brother turned up?”

“So it would seem,” Cas said, not turning to look at Dean. “The front door opened almost ten minutes ago. There has been shouting for the last three minutes. It doesn’t sound like Jay or Faith.”

No kidding it didn’t sound like Faith, not unless she’d swallowed a whole load of that gas that made your voice all deep. Maybe, to Cas, the differences between Jay and this Drew were as pronounced as the ones between Faith and Jay were to Dean, and he was just making sure the human was clear. Didn’t much matter who it was in some ways. It was clearly the voice of someone who’d like to smash a fist through a face.

“Well, come on,” Dean said, finally getting the last fold of bedding untangled and making quick work of getting into his jeans. “Before they kill each other, let’s go see what’s going on.”

“I doubt they’ll kill each other,” Cas offered, but he followed Dean without actual protest. “They are siblings.”

“Yeah, tell that to your screwy family,” Dean said.

Cas didn’t answer, and Dean kicked himself mentally. From what Jay and Faith had said yesterday, Cas’ ‘family’ weren’t really family at all, and he had to be mulling that over, still, wondering exactly what it meant. Maybe they’d get more answers today. 

The shouting got louder as they made their way down the sweeping staircase, Dean fighting back the feeling he was in some Golden Age of Holywood film, and reached the room Jay had met them in the day before. 

In the middle of the room, Jay could be seen over the shoulder of someone they hadn’t met before, someone with caramel-brown hair and live-wire tension thrumming through his whole body. 

“Everything all right, here?” Dean asked, pasting a grin he knew would be called cocky onto his face and stopping a few feet behind the newcomer, Cas at his side.

The guy, and it had to be this Drew, span around, his eyes a blazing golden-brown as they hit Dean. And it was a hit. Dean had to stop himself from taking a step back, and he’d faced down pretty much everything by this point. 

“You’re the hunter?” Drew snapped. “You’re the one who hurt him?”

“We talking about Cas, here?” Dean asked, lifting his chin and staring down at Drew. The guy had to be a few inches shorter than him, so he shouldn’t be managing to loom the way he was. “’Cos he’s standing right next to me and he ain’t exactly hating on me.”

The speed at which Drew’s attention shifted to Cas would have been funny if it hadn’t been underscored by a feeling of desperation and anger. 

The guy stared as Cas for long enough it got uncomfortable, his eyes widening, and his lips shaping words he didn’t say out loud. Cas stared back without speaking, his own expression assessing, hesitant. 

Dean opened his mouth to say something, anything, to get this weird meeting rolling, but Drew chose that moment to spark into movement, practically hurling himself at Cas, his arms coming up and folding tight around the angel before anyone else could move. 

“Er…” Dean managed, meeting Cas’ startled eyes over Drew’s shoulder. He realised he had his hand up, like he could pull Drew off the angel from several feet away, and dropped it, feeling foolish and out of place. This had gone from potential confrontation to hugging really fast.

Drew had his chin hooked over Cas’ shoulder, his head leaning in like he wanted to be as close as physically possible, and his grip was tight enough even Cas looked a bit pained by it. 

Pulling back suddenly, Drew grabbed hold of Cas’ shoulders and picked back up with the staring, his head shaking slightly from side to side.

“We thought you were dead,” he said, disbelief and wonder in his voice, and not a small helping of anguish. “I thought you were dead. I saw…” A harder shake of his head was the only end to that sentence. “And why didn’t I sense you? I should have been able to sense you the moment I got close to the house.” His voice took on a harder edge, anger rippling through it and rising. “What has he done to you? What the fuck has he-?”

“Drew,” Jay said. It was just the one word, a snap of a command. Jay didn’t even move as he said it.

It was all that was needed, though. Dropping his hands from Cas abruptly, Drew shut up and stepped back, stepped back until he was almost by Jay’s side, leaving them in a weird face-off, Nephilim against Dean and Cas. Dean wished he had more faith it wasn’t going to come to that, but this whole thing kept spinning in odd directions and that made him want to fight. Made the Mark want to fight and more.

“I don’t like it, either,” Jay said. “You know my thoughts on such bindings, but this hunter truly cares for Castiel, and in any case it is done. We need your help to undo it. As for the rest, there will be time for that once we are certain we are not going to lose our shield again.”

The more Dean heard them use that term, ‘shield’, the more it sounded like when Dean said ‘brother’.

“None of us want to lose Cas,” Dean said. “So how about we get started on fixing this, before he explodes.”

He got three looks that said his word choice could have been better. Three very similar looks. Dean’s suspicions about these Nephilim just grew with each passing moment.

“You aren’t going to do anything,” Drew practically spat at him. “You’ve done enough as it is. When I need you, I will call for you.”

“Oh, no. Not happening, Pal,” Dean said, letting some of his annoyance with this particular sibling show. “Where Cas goes, I go. You don’t like me? Fine. But I don’t know you enough to trust you with my friend, and I’ve already seen your sisters pull some painful spells on him. I’m keeping an eye on things.”

“Faith was helping him,” Jay said, mildly.

“Faith tried a spell?” Drew asked, surprise pushing some of the venom out of his voice. 

“To see how badly Castiel was injured,” Jay answered, his voice making it clear he was reassuring Drew that it had been necessary. “I’m sure she’ll fill you in on what she found.”

“Where is Faith, anyway?” Dean asked, flicking a glance at Cas to see the angel was still watching Drew, a steady look that said his mind was whirling away on something. He wondered if Cas had noticed how similar Drew’s eyes were to Gabriel’s. Or to Gabriel’s vessel’s, at least.

“Out,” Jay said. “We needed some supplies. She’ll be back soon enough. Drew can start without her. I am sure he will want to make his own assessment, as it is.”

Drew nodded once, a tight, hard movement. He passed a searing glare over Dean and then it was as though the hunter had been switched off in Drew’s head. The moment he looked at Cas again, his gaze softened, although there was still something like hurt and anger buried in it. This guy was a whole mess of emotions, especially in comparison to Jay’s calm and Faith’s amused assurance.

“Castiel,” Drew said, the name more reverent than Dean had ever managed to make it, “I will need to assess the damage. Do I have your permission?”

Cas spoke for the first time, sounding as though he was choosing his words carefully but with no real hope that would help.

“Faith needed Dean’s permission.” 

Cas’ gaze darted over to Dean and back to Drew so quickly it could have been missed, but from the way Drew’s shoulder stiffened, it had been noticed.

Drew’s voice was strained when he replied. “I will get his…permission when I need it for a spell, but I want yours as a matter of respect.”

“Then you have it,” Cas said at once.

No hesitation, no sense this guy had just walked into their lives and started shouting. For God’s sake, when was Cas going to grow a sense of concern over his own safety? Sure, they’d come here to get this Drew to help them, but that didn’t mean having to dive in head-first with no reservations. Dean was going to need to make it clear there’d be consequences if Drew abused Cas’ trust.

“Cas,” Dean said, drawing his friend’s attention to him at once. “You sure about this? Last chance to back out, man.”

“I’m sure,” Cas said, but he sounded dazed, still, not all there. 

“Trust me, hunter,” Drew broke in. “He is far safer with me than he is with you. I will not bind him to my will. I will not break him.”

And with that, Drew ushered Cas from the room, so quickly that Dean found himself left behind with Jay, feeling like the largest rug in the world had been pulled from under his feet.

Turning to Jay, he caught a flash of concern in the older Nephilim’s eye and had to bite back a demand to know what had caused it. Jay had already stood up for him against his own brother. No sense in antagonizing the guy. He kept his voice deliberately light.

“He always that much fun?”

Jay sent him a reproving look.

“Drew was always close to Castiel,” he said, as though that meant the guy could be a dick all he wanted. “In many ways, it hit him hardest when we lost the Seraph.” He paused, looking as though he was thinking over whether to say more. He must have decided for it, but he didn’t sound as though his next words came out easy. “It was Drew who found him, when…when we lost him.”

“Found him?” Dean had got the impression that Cas had just vanished, like he’d done to Dean a thousand times. “How do you mean, found?”

He needed to hear Jay say it.

“We were made to think Castiel was dead, Dean.” And he wasn’t looking at Dean now, but at something inside his own mind. “We were left with his vessel, broken and bleeding. We were left with the scorched imprint of wings. I saw the light of exploding grace from eight streets away. When I reached him, my brother was crying over Castiel’s body. What we thought was his body. When an angel dies, its trueform vanishes, and all you are left with is the vessel. How were we to know he was not really dead? All the signs were there.”

“I…didn’t know.” It brought up too many memories of the times he’d seen Cas die. Of course, with Cas, Dean knew to hold onto that bit of hope. The guy had died so often, and had always come back. But Jay spoke as though they hadn’t ever seen that, and the wings… At least Dean had never seen soot outlines of Cas’ wings. He didn’t know how it’d hit him if he ever saw that.

“Of course you didn’t,” Jay said, his brow wrinkling as though he wasn’t sure why Dean felt the need to say it. “But it may go someway to explain why Drew is reacting so strongly to seeing him again. He would never speak of it, but I always believed he saw Castiel die. Joyful as it is to have him back, it can not be easy to see a loved one back from the dead when you saw them perish.”

With that, Jay gestured for Dean to follow him and left the room. 

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, before following on Jay’s heels. “I wonder what the fuck that’s like.”


	32. Lines

Whatever Dean had been expecting when they caught up with Cas and Drew it had not been what he found. 

Cas had his arms crossed over his chest, for all the world like the guy was defending himself, and his chin was tucked in, his shoulders hunched. He seemed to be staring at his own feet. It was all the signs of someone who did not want to be having this conversation. As for Drew… that guy was intense in a whole other way to Jay. Drew was a few feet away from Cas, preparing something in a pestle and mortar on a workbench, but he was keeping up a steady stream of low words that Dean couldn’t make out as he entered the room. Whatever Drew was saying, Cas didn’t look to like it much. 

“We okay here?” Dean asked, his irritation only growing when neither of them so much as glanced at him.

“What exactly would you be able to do about it is it weren’t?” Drew asked. “Why is he even here?”

This last bit was shot at Jay, who stopped slightly further into the room than Dean and regarded his brother in a way that said he had a lot more going through his brain than he was letting on.

“Drew,” Jay said, and his tone was a clear signal that the younger Nephilim should tone things down, for all it was delivered in a calmer way than Dean would have managed. “Dean is out guest. And he’s Castiel’s friend.”

“Castiel’s captor,” Drew snapped, almost before Jay had stopped speaking. 

Dean grunted like he’d been hit. It was damn near the truth. The Mark pulses a flare of anger through Dean’s body and he clamped his mouth shut to stop it spilling out. Whatever this Drew guy was saying, he was still working away at something that Jay and Faith and even, as far as he was giving any opinions away these days, Cas seemed to think might help. Dean didn’t want to get them chucked out of this place before he’d seen if there was a chance of fixing Cas here. Biting his tongue could only go on for so long, though, before he’d choke on his own blood and end with spitting it in someone’s, Drew’s, face.

“Dean is my friend,” Cas said, and damn, but it was good to hear how definite he sounded about that. For a moment, the angel glanced up, his gaze hitting Dean first and then moving swiftly on to Drew, who flat out froze when Cas’ eyes reached him. The staring went on for just long enough that Dean was about to break the silence when Cas spoke again, emphasising each word. “Dean is my family.”

The fight went out of Drew, his whole body sagging in what could have been letting down his guard, or what could have been defeat. Dean didn’t know the guy well enough to tell.

When Cas looked back down, Drew closed his eyes, his face tight and pinched, and drew in a ragged breath. 

Dean looked between them and then at Jay, who gestured in a way that clearly said to leave it, which… Yeah. No. For now, maybe, because whatever Drew was making looked like the set-up for some spell or potion, and if it was something to help Cas then that came first just now, but no way was Dean dropping this…this whatever it was between Cas and Drew. No way in Hell. These people, they kept on about how Dean was a danger to Cas, how Dean was the one who’d done something to hurt his friend, but it wasn’t like Cas really remembered them. Not anywhere near enough for Dean to be trusting they truly had Cas’ best interests at heart. It was good enough that he wasn’t laying into them all with any blade he could get his hands on, but just let them put one foot wrong and-

“Dean.” Jay’s voice yanked Dean out of his head. The Nephilim was a hell of a lot closer than he’d been a moment ago, his eyes a damn sight too much like Cas’ for comfort. “Perhaps it would be best if we let Drew work in peace.”

That brought a crashing halt to any thoughts Dean was piecing together about Jay.

“No. Not happening. I’m staying right here.”

“Are you going to let Castiel have any say in that?” Drew asked, his voice tight, barely controlled. Like he had any right to want to yell at Dean. “Or are you going to dictate to him? That’s what you do, isn’t it? Dictate and be damned.”

Dean stepped back from Jay, breaking away from whatever sway the guy seemed to have that could pull Dean’s attention from the rest of the room even for a moment, and swung about to glare at Drew, who didn’t even have the decency to look up from whatever he was mashing into the mortar.

“Okay, you know what, Pal? You need to knock that chip right off your shoulder before you cut yourself on it. Just what is your problem?”

“My problem?” Drew asked, pounding the pestle down with every few words. “My problem is you. You with your orders, your possessiveness, your sense of entitlement, as though you have any right to claim a hair on his vessel’s head, let alone the whole of him. Just what makes you think you deserve him?”

Even Dean could see, from all the way across the room, that whatever Drew was working on was pulp and powder by now. He ought to be careful, or he’d be in no better shape before long. Heat lanced along Dean’s arm.

“I never said anything about claiming Cas, or owning Cas, or whatever the fuck else you have in that crazy-ass head of yours. You got that? I don’t own him.” Dean spat the words in disgust.

“No,” Drew said, the word dark and growling. “You don’t.”

“When you have finished deciding who owns me, perhaps we could get on with trying to find a way to stop me from exploding and taking you all out with me?”

Dean found himself caught with his mouth half-open as Cas’ words gritted out into the room. He only managed to get himself together enough to turn to his friend once the angel had finished, to see him standing with his jaw clenched and more that look in his eyes which said everyone around him was stomping on his last, raw nerve. After the way Cas had checked in and out over the last few weeks, it was a relief. Kind of like being savaged by a hamster, what with how weak Cas was, but a call-back to the old days, when Dean should have feared for his life, and sometimes had, when he’d pissed the angel off.

At the very least, it snapped some sense into Drew. The guy’s cheeks flamed red, something that glared like a neon light on a dark street against his otherwise pale skin.

That was another thing Dean didn’t get, now he thought of it. Jay and Faith, and Seraphine, were all manner of shades. Faith looked like she was from somewhere in the Middle East, far as Dean could tell, and Jay was white, but with a tanned, olive complexion that said something in his ancestry was, perhaps, Italian or something. Hell if Dean knew. Point was, they didn’t look like they came from the same parents, or the same background. They all spoke the same way, but Dean couldn’t see the English accent being mainstream in this magical, wondrous angel-kid city of theirs. 

And then there was the fact that Jay, at least… Damn it. There was no other way to say it, even in his own head. Jay looked like Cas. 

Now that he thought of it, Drew looked like a taller, paler version of…of Gabriel. 

Maybe all angelic vessels just had too many links between bloodlines and it was coming out in the mix. Which didn’t explain why he hadn’t seen anyone looking like Uriel or either version of Raphael, but maybe that was all for the best. Everyone else in the room may remember Uriel as a dad, but all Dean saw when he thought of him was the fact the bastard had turned on Cas and pushed Dean into a situation where he’d had to try torturing Alisair. 

No matter. He’d get to the bottom of it when Cas was sorted out. For right now, he had to keep the focus on that and not let Drew get so riled up he screwed this up. Some people just didn’t have their heads on right, was what it was. 

Dean caught Cas’ eye and smiled. It was good that they were on the same page with this.

“Sure thing, Cas. Exactly what I’ve been saying.”

There was no need at all for the dirty look Cas gave him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's turning into Angel Dynasty up in here. Next chapter, there will be dramatic close-up and Cas' twin sister will be having an affair with the pool-boy... 
> 
> But seriously, let me know if there is anything you particularly like or which is not clear. 
> 
> And I can only say that I do know families whose relationships are nearly as complicated as this lot's are going to turn out to be. So there's that.


	33. Setting It Straight

“All I’m saying is, I don’t see what crawled up his ass and died,” Dean said, throwing himself down on the bed he’d been left with last night and trying not to let it be obvious that he was checking out Cas as the angel took off his coat and jacket.

Not checking out. Checking up on. 

Cas sighed as he draped the jacket over the back of a chair and started to undo the buttons on his shirt.

“Drew is emotional. There seems to be something about me that upsets him, but as he won’t tell me what I did, I can’t do anything about it.”

“He won’t tell you, either?” Dean asked, knowing his surprise was written all over his face. He was sure Drew had been whispering away at Cas, filling him in on whatever it was.

“No,” Cas said, and he sounded annoyed about it. 

“Then what was with all the muttering and whispering?”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean in a way that said his friend was being childish. Dean stared back. Eventually, Cas sagged and shook his head, finally finishing with the buttons and peeling the shirt off to leave him standing bare chested. He seemed to lose interest in the whole undressing thing then, just standing with the shirt folded over one arm as he spoke.

“He kept asking if I was safe. If I felt safe around you. It was…strange.” Cas’ brow crinkled. “I’ve seen people have that sort of conversation, on T.V., when someone is worried that… Normally, in those soap operas you like, or in police dramas.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest about the soaps being what he liked, but his brain caught up with his indignation.

“Hang on a minute. You mean, conversations where someone’s asking if a person feels safe with…?” Dean sat bolt upright and gaped at Cas. “He was seriously asking if I’m some sort of abusive boyfriend?”

“Essentially.” Cas looked at Dean as though he hadn’t said anything outlandish. “I assured him you did not generally beat me or shout at me for wearing something you didn’t like.”

“And how did he take that?” Dean asked, more or less on autopilot as his brain spiralled round this latest revelation and sidestepping the fact that Cas had an overly simplistic view of the whole abuse thing. 

“He didn’t seem reassured.”

Another detail caught at Dean’s mind.

“Wait, so…you told him I don’t generally beat you, which, thanks for that, but you didn’t tell him we’re not…” He waved a hand in the air, vaguely indicating Cas and himself.

Cas squinted at him for a while as though wishing he had a book that translated Dean into English.

“In a romantic relationship?” he asked at last, as though not certain he was guessing the right thing. “No. It didn’t seem relevant.”

“Seems pretty damn relevant to me, Cas.”

“Why?” Cas pretty much snapped that word, paused for a second with a look on his face that said he’d had enough of this conversation, and turned to throw his shirt down on top of his jacket.

“Because…just because, Cas,” Dean said at last. Something that had been niggling away at him clicked into place and he stood, crossing to Cas as though being closer would make this easier to say. He caught Cas on the shoulder and pulled him round, ignoring how warm Cas’ skin was under his hand. He had to dip his head and catch Cas’ eye before the guy would look at him, that stubborn set on the angel’s face showing that he wasn’t in the mood to be listening to Dean. “Listen, Drew’s pissed about something. Has been since we met him. Since before we met him. And it seems pretty clear to me it’s something about us, you know? It occur to you maybe he has a thing for you?”

“A thing?” Cas asked, sounding dubious. “You think Drew is romantically interested in me?”

“I’m saying I think Drew’s been carrying a torch for you for a long time, the way Jay tells it.” At Cas’ head-tilt, Dean pushed on. He didn’t have time for the whole weeping-over-the-dead-body story right now. “All I’m saying is, I’ve seen people being jealous when their crush turns up with a partner, and this fits the bill.”

“You’re my partner?” 

“As far as he knows, I suppose I am,” Dean said. Suddenly, the weight of his hand on Cas’ shoulder seemed too much, and he pulled back, turning and rubbing a hand over his face. “Look. This bond thing they keep going on about. Could that be making him think there’s something of that sort between us? Because they keep saying it means I can control you, and that makes it sound less like a relationship and more like some sex-slave thing, you know? Not really my thing.”

All he got from Cas on that one was silence, and when he turned back to find out why it was to see Cas staring blankly at some mid-point in the air, as though he was having severe trouble getting his mind to work. 

“What?” Dean asked, when Cas was still phased out several heartbeats later. “Cas? You with me?”

God, don’t let the angel have had some aneurysm or something. He’d had enough of watching Cas suffer to last forever. Just as he was about to reach out and shake Cas, to shout for Drew if it was needed, Cas blinked and came back to the room. He sounded dazed.

“That…” he said. “That… I am relatively sure that is not… I don’t really know how this bond works. It must be one of the things Naomi wiped from my mind, but…”

“Cas,” Dean said, speaking slowly in case that helped. “I can promise you, even if this bond somehow does give me complete control over you, and let’s be honest, that is not the way it looks from all the times you completely fucking ignored what I said, I can promise you I would not be using it for that. Okay?” He left it a beat before smiling crookedly at Cas and only half-joking on the next line. “And if you could pass that on to Drew, that’d be swell. Maybe he’ll stop glaring at me like I pissed in his cornflakes.”

“Why would you have-?” Cas stopped himself and managed a twisted part smile, the sort he used when he was feeling out of place with human customs and was trying to catch up. “Oh. You mean… Yeah. It might be nice if the two of you stopped acting like you might fight at any moment. I mean, I didn’t realise it would be over me, which seems pointless. If the bond is what they say it is, you already have me.”

Which was…nice to hear? And so not the time.

“Hey, it’s him with the issue, Cas,” Dean said, putting the blame firmly where it belonged. “He wants to fight me, he can try it. See how that works out for him.”

“Even with the Mark, Dean,” Cas said, the smile dropping from his face, “you are still more or less human, and he is still Nephilim, and we don’t really know what he can do.”

“I took down his sister.”

“I’m not sure that wasn’t her plan.”

Dean nodded, his mouth twisting. 

“Right. Right, well. Whatever. We’d better get some sleep so you can be rested to tell Drew that you’re single. See if he gets up the courage to ask you to the prom.”

Dean pulled his own clothes off to get ready for bed and made a point of not looking over at Cas until the rustling of heavier fabric made it clear the guy was getting under the covers. When he did look over, after punching his pillow into something more comfortable, it was to see the dark hair splayed out on the pillow and Cas’ eyes closed in sleep. Drew had poured more than one concoction into Cas today, but he’d grumbled and moaned about all of it. Drew, that was. Not Cas. Cas had sat with a look of long suffering patience and alternately glowered at everyone or spaced out. 

Every time he’d spaced, Dean had caught the same look on Drew’s face that he was sure was on his. Concern. Worry that this time Cas was fading. Jay had been in and out, his brow pinched whenever Cas had been shut down and staring at nothing. Neither of them would tell Dean what it meant, if it was something to do with his Grace starting to fracture or what, so he’d paced and asked questions that were mostly ignored and paced some more. And it looked like they’d made no progress to speak of. 

Still, Drew had announced that he had a better idea of how things stood by the end of the day, and he hadn’t shown any signs of heading off to bed when Jay had politely, but firmly, suggested that Dean take the sagging Cas up for some rest.

Cas looked far too small when he was asleep, like most of what made him seem large and powerful was his energy, and with that switched off Dean could see that his vessel was shorter and less obviously muscled than Dean’s. Well, Dean’s body. He shifted at how close his own thoughts had come to labelling him a vessel. Those days were long past. 

And it was stupid to think of Cas as small, anyway. He’d seen the guy naked, and again with his shirt off today, and he was built, just more in the way a runner was, or a swimmer. 

Fact was, though, that Cas did not look all-powerful and capable of smiting anything that came at him. Not anymore. 

Made it kind of hard to sleep.


	34. Drew

Faith was there when Dean made it to the kitchen the next morning, her hair up in some braid and wearing a red shirt that was far too big for her. She looked…less a professor and more some free-spirited artist who’d turned back up at the family farm to help with some wholesome project. She also looked far too awake for ass O’clock in the morning.

“Did you not get any sleep at all?” she asked, as she poured orange juice from a glass jug into a tumbler and pushed the drink over to Dean. She already had a plate of pastries and fruit in front of her and a half-empty glass of juice. 

Dean grunted and slumped into the chair in front of him, leaning on the breakfast bar and glaring blearily at the food in the middle of the worktop. He could maybe handle something, seeing as it was already there.

Faith dropped a croissant on his plate and added slices of peach and melon before he could stop her.

“Oh, shut up,” she said, tapping her finger on the edge of his plate before sitting back and tearing another piece off her own food. “You look like whatever had you up all night has left you needing your strength.”

“And what might that be?”

Dean groaned again and considered slinking away to eat somewhere where Drew wasn’t, but that was just the tiredness talking. Instead, he took a moment to close his eyes and wish for patience before he turned and offered the guy a friendly grin.

“Don’t worry, Man,” he said, keeping his tone light and non-threatening. If Cas wanted Dean to play nice, then he would be as nice as could be. “Cas got a good night’s sleep. I made sure of it.”

It was only after the words left his mouth that he realised how that could be taken, and the tightening of Drew’s mouth made it a pretty fair bet it had been taken the wrong way. Dean glanced back at Faith to see her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide as she looked between her brother and their visitor. With a slight shake of her head she pulled them all out of that moment.

“Anyway, the important thing is you get something in you before we all continue finding a way to cure our Castiel. Isn’t that right, Drew?” 

Dean didn’t miss the slightly pointed note to her last sentence, and neither did Drew if the way he nodded and came to join them for breakfast was any indication. He also didn’t miss the ‘our’ comment. 

He prodded at the slices of peach. Who ate fruit for breakfast, anyway? 

“Morning, Dean,” Cas’ deep rumble came from the doorway, followed by a slight hesitation that could have been him stepping into the kitchen or could have been general awkwardness. “Morning, Drew. Faith.”

“Castiel.” Faith smiled at him, her tongue still curling oddly round the word, and set about placing food on a plate as though Cas couldn’t do that himself if he wanted to eat. 

When she was done, she patted the seat next to her, the one on the other side of the breakfast island to Dean and Drew, and waited with an expectant look on her face until Cas took the hint. Dean could imagine her doing the same in a classroom until her student had followed her wishes. Of course, maybe with most students they were falling over themselves to do what she wanted, in any case. Must be odd, being around people who didn’t fall for that.

“So, Cas,” he asked, once everyone was settled and eating had started up again. “You sleep all right? You look a bit better.”

He didn’t, but Dean hadn’t made it this far by letting reality get in the way of an encouraging statement when he felt one was needed. 

Cas sighed, like having to talk about sleep was just too much.

“I slept,” he said. He picked up a piece of fruit, stared at it, and set it back down. He looked up at some corner of the kitchen ceiling before speaking again, like it might understand him better than anyone at the breakfast bar. “It’s strange, this need for sleep. When I was human, sleep was… It was hard, sometimes. Getting to sleep. Staying asleep. What you see in your own mind… Very strange. But now, I can fall asleep in moments. And I shouldn’t be sleeping at all. Very strange. I would prefer it if the dreams would stop.”

And he picked up the fruit, a strawberry. Bit into it like he hadn’t said anything at all. 

“You were human?” Drew asked, sounding horrified. Without waiting for an answer from Cas, he turned to Dean.

“Oh, and I suppose that’s my fault, too?” Dean said, around his mouthful of pastry. 

“Boys,” Faith broke in. “Leave it. You’re upsetting him.”

Dean checked on Cas to see the angel chewing on his fruit, his gaze fixed on the plate. His shoulders were slumped and he had his head tucked in in a way that was way too reminiscent of the past. Slap a loose white top on the guy and it’d be that slice of time right before Purgatory all over again. 

“Cas-” 

“I’m fine,” Cas said, cutting Dean off, but he still wasn’t looking at any of them.

Faith waved off any further attempt to talk to the angel, leaning over and wrapping an arm around Cas’ shoulders, rubbing at his closer shoulder with her free hand. She murmured something to him that got him to look at her, an expression partway between confusion and hope on his face, and Dean was too surprised to say anything about it.

He shot a look at Drew, but the kid seemed just fine with Faith hanging off Cas. So he wasn’t jealous of his sister, then. Just of Dean. 

Neither of them said anything as Cas nodded and stood, Faith’s hand sliding off him as she guided him out of the kitchen, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. A silence which Drew broke.

“He was human?” he asked in a too-dead voice, like that news had shattered something in him. At least he didn’t sound as though he wanted to tear Dean’s head off and plant it in the garden, which had been a definite undercurrent of everything else he’d said so far.

“Er. Yeah. A year or two back. Just for a few months.”

“And he…chose that?” 

Drew’s question was careful and Dean got the feeling a lot was riding on this answer. For the first time, he felt something for the kid other than irritation. The Nephilim sounded like he was struggling to understand.

“No. He was tricked. Hated being human, near as I can tell, but he did like the food. Misses that, I think. He leveled back up pretty much as soon as he could, but he didn’t get all the way.”

“Is that why his Grace is so mangled?” Drew asked. 

“Mangled? Um. I suppose. He had to take another angel’s Grace first, to get his batteries up and running. Your sister, the violent one, dragged his real Grace back out somehow. It involved a lot of blood, and his wings.”

There was silence again after that, Drew’s brow creasing and his eyes moving as though reading from some internal book, his mouth shaping words that Dean could hear or work out. 

After what seemed like minutes, Drew nodded, his expression firming.

“There’s a lot I don’t know about him, it seems. You and I are going to have a long talk and you are going to fill in the gaps.”

Without waiting to see if Dean was following, or if he was even done eating, Drew slid off the chair and headed towards the double doors, white and many paned, on the other side of the kitchen. Through the glass panes, Dean could see a path, trimmed bushes, a sweeping lawn. 

“Hang on,” he said, cramming the last of the pastry into his mouth and not sparing a thought for the fruit that sat in its own sticky mess on the plate. “Just why am I filling in all the gaps? Why can’t you ask Cas?”

Drew just frowned at him over his shoulder, and pushed the doors open. They were out in the garden, walking between bushes covered in red flowers, before he bothered to answer Dean’s question.

“You need to fill the gaps because Castiel won’t tell me anything. I asked him yesterday, repeatedly, to tell me what I needed to know, and he wouldn’t. He answered questions, yes, but he didn’t offer up anything I didn’t ask about. Not really. He acted like we were strangers, like he didn’t trust me. I’ve never seen him so closed off.”

“That was closed off?” Dean asked, and he reached out and pulled Drew to a halt before he’d thought it through. 

The look of surprise on the kid’s face was almost worth it by itself, but he dropped his hand quickly, Cas’ warning that they didn’t really know what Nephilim could do ringing in his mind. It wasn’t that he was afraid for himself, but they needed help for Cas.

“Look, I gotta tell you,” Dean said, when it became clear Drew was waiting for him to go on, “that yesterday? That was not Cas being closed off. Yeah, he kept spacing, but that’s part of whatever’s wrong with him right now. He answered everything you asked him, no hesitation. God, if you knew much it pisses me off when he won’t give me a straight answer, you’d see what I mean.”

Drew opened his mouth and paused, his eyes scanning Dean’s face, maybe looking for clues to some puzzle he was trying to work out. 

“That was not Castiel being open,” he said at last. “That was… I know I am expecting too much. Jay warned me that memory was an issue and I have seen what Naomi can do. What she could do. Hard to believe she’s dead, after all this time. But before… Always before, Castiel shook it off. I suppose I’d convinced myself it could never happen to him. And…” Drew stopped, closed his eyes, took a deep, rattling breath. His jaw was tight. “Look. It’s harder than I thought it would be, having him back but…not. He doesn’t know who I am. Not really. And he is not being as open with me as he would have been, whatever you might think. And then I see the way he looks at you, and…”

Dean had to fight to keep himself in this conversation. It was so far past the point he was comfortable with that he could feel his feet itching with the need to leave. There was no ghost needing talking down, no victim needing to dig in and believe in themselves so they could get rid of the monster. This was some guy who was way too invested in Cas, springing up out of nowhere and leaving Dean reeling. Still. He was there, and he had the feeling that Drew, now he’d started, would only follow him if Dean left.

“Look, I get it. I do. I’ve lost Cas a bunch of times and one of those he turned up with no memory. Like, zero. Didn’t even know he was an angel. This is way back before he wasn’t an angel. Him looking at me, asking who I was, if he could help, and not even knowing…? It was tough. And fucking weird to hear him call that woman his wife.”

“His…?” Drew looked away, looked back, ran a hand over his face. The gold of his eyes was watery. “He lost his memory on top of everything Naomi took? Or did she do that to him, as well? And he was married?” As Dean opened his mouth to answer, Drew held up a hand and shook his head. “No. We can get back to that. Is that why you set up the bond? To stop him from getting lost again? To keep him with you?”

“I keep telling you people,” Dean said, and it was hard not to let all the bite into his word that wanted to be there. “I did not do this. Not on purpose. Hell, I didn’t even know it was there until you sister kidnapped Cas and… Did you know she shoved a meat-hook into his back? Right into his wings? I don’t really know what your problem is with me, but I am not the enemy here. Whatever crush you have on Cas, I am not standing in your way. Just fix him. Stop him dying. Again. I’ve seen it too much, and if he comes back again, if that’s because of whatever caused this bond, then… He changes every time. There’s always some price and he always seems to pay it. There’s got to be a way to stop this.”

Gold flared stronger for a moment, swirling like sparks over a campfire, and Drew stared at Dean with an intensity that screamed ‘angel’.

“I will save him,” Drew said. “I will. And then we will have a longer conversation, because there are a lot of things on which you need to be clear. For one thing, I do not have a crush on Castiel. I love him. I have loved him for longer than this nation has existed and him not remembering me doesn’t change it. He’s alive. It’s more than I thought I’d get. And whether he remembers me or not, hard as that is, I will save him, but I will do it for him, and for me. You? Everything I hear makes it clearer that you have brought him nothing but pain.”

And Drew strode off before Dean could gather his thoughts together enough to reply.


	35. Tea

Dean couldn’t find Cas at first. 

He stalked through the house, finding room after room he’d had no idea was there, from book-lined library to something that looked like a jungle had been planted in this piece of the USA, surrounded by glass walls and metal struts, but he found no sign of Cas. Not until he ventured upstairs and found a room tucked away at the far end of the house, in something that looked like a turret. 

He’d not seen this from the outside, but he supposed it would be around the back of the behemoth of a place. It was a bizarro thing to find, and he had to climb up a spiral staircase, his hand trailing along the cold, metal handrail, to find out if there was an actual room at the top.

There was. A near-circular room with windows cutting through the top half and bench seats coated in cushions all round the edge. It felt like there should be a telescope or some shit up here, but instead he found Faith and Cas, sitting with their legs tucked up, each with a small cup balanced between their fingers. 

Cas looked calmer than he had in a long time.

Faith smiled at Dean, a slow, warm curving of the lips that he couldn’t imagine seeing on her back in the bunker, and patted the seat next to her. Dean hesitated for a moment and took a seat next to Cas, instead, who barely glanced at him. 

The angel’s attention seemed to be on the liquid in his cup, something light and fragrant. Not coffee. 

“You having a little tea-party up here?” Dean asked. He tried to smile back at Faith, still on edge after his run in with Drew and not wanting to cause any more friction until he’d settled in his mind what to say to Cas, if anything, about the whole ‘loving him for years’ thing. He wondered if Cas had known. He wondered if the angel understood Drew felt that now.

“It’s an old ritual,” Faith said, her pleasant tone carrying a thread of warning in it. 

Dean didn’t need to see her flick her gaze at Cas to know he was being told not to upset his friend. Whatever the point of this was, she obviously felt it was helping. And Cas did seem more centered, less like he was crumbling in on himself. 

“Well, if there’s enough for one more cup?” Dean asked. 

Faith looked at him steadily for long enough that Dean thought she might be about to refuse, before unfolding her legs and leaning down to the floor, to where a small black teapot sat next to a stack of cups. When she handed a filled cup to Dean, the steam curled up around his face, heady and light at once. 

He breathed it in, trying to work out what was so special about it that it meant coming to sit up here cross-legged, and watched Cas out of the corner of his eye. After seeing him tied up, bleeding, screaming and all manner of crap over the last few weeks, and then phasing in and out like he was on a dimmer switch, Dean found himself off kilter next to a Cas who was here, calm and apparently not about to keel over. It was…nice. It just wasn’t something he trusted.

At least the guy had stopped hunching.

“I have some papers to grade,” Faith announced when Dean as about halfway through his tea, and by the time he adjusted his gaze to look at her she’d already slid to her feet and was stretching, pulling a face that said she wasn’t as zen with the meditative sitting as she’d looked. “You feel free to sit up here and finish your drinks, okay? Drew hasn’t come up banging on about a cure, or more tests, so no need to rush down. I assure you, he will make it known when he wants you.”

With a last smile, she left the room, leaving Dean staring after her. She just had to add that last line, didn’t she? He just bet Drew would make it clear. 

“Dean? Is something wrong? You’re tense.”

Cas sounded more like himself, as well, and less like the distant, weakened creature he’d been a lot lately. It wasn’t the time to burst his calm little bubble, not when it was the first peace that seemed to have sunk in for ages. 

“I’m fine, Cas. Just…you know. Not exactly in my comfort zone here. Big ass house and nothing I’m allowed to hunt.”

“Nothing to hunt,” Cas corrected, and Dean could practically hear his eyes narrowing. 

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled, flushing at his slip. “That’s what I meant.”

Because Cas was right. He was. There was no sign they needed to hunt these Nephilim. Not even Drew. Having a thing for Cas wasn’t a hanging offense. 

A sigh from his right brought Dean’s attention round to Cas in time to see his friend setting his cup down on the floor, not bothering to unfold his legs as he reached down, the long line of his back far more graceful than Cas used to be. The body fit him, now, in a way it never did to start with. 

Sitting up, Cas met Dean’s eyes and, yeah, there was the narrowing. 

“Dean,” Cas said, in a tone that said he was in serious mode. “If you don’t trust them, we can leave.”

“What? No. No, not happening. Unless Sam comes up with something, and he’d call if he did, this is our best shot at getting you well. We ain’t going anywhere just yet. Got to get you back up to fighting weight.”

“Fighting weight.” Cas dropped his gaze to his own lap, where his hands now sat twisted together. “Yes. Of course.”

Dean’s brain caught up with his mouth that bit too late.

“No. Cas, no. I didn’t mean we need you back fighting. This isn’t about you being useful, okay? That’s just a way of saying I want you better. All right? Cas?”

Cas still wasn’t looking at him. 

“Of course,” he said again, but it was quiet, like he didn’t really believe Dean but wasn’t sure how to say it. 

Dean leaned closer, close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from Cas, could feel the electricity the angel seemed to generate just by existing. He let one hand hover, half-thinking of clapping it to Cas’ shoulder, but that suddenly felt too intimate. Which was fucking stupid. It was something they did, the shoulder pats. It didn’t mean anything except to say the other one was around if needed. And it was obvious Cas needed something right now, but somehow Dean couldn’t drop his hand the last few inches to touch Cas.

“Hey,” he managed after an awkward pause. “I mean it, Cas. I want you to get better because…I just do. I don’t like seeing you hurting, man.”

He pulled his hand back and held the cup between his palms, feeling the heat leeching out into his skin. It hadn’t been so cold in here just a short while ago. All today had been so far was uncomfortable conversation after uncomfortable conversation. It wasn’t good for his health. 

“Thank-you, Dean,” Cas said. 

But he said it like it was rote, some part of a spell he wasn’t sure would work. Maybe a spell to make Dean go away. 

Dean thought about granting Cas that wish, about just getting up and leaving, but he was stopped by the comments he’d heard since this all started, about him trapping Cas, the questions Drew had asked that made Dean sound like some abuser. And he stayed.

“Look,” he said, keeping his voice as warm and reassuring as he could, even though a thrum of anger was making itself felt at this mix-up, “I really didn’t mean we need you better so you can fight, or be useful, or be a tool for us to use. I didn’t. I meant the important thing for me here is that you get well. I want you to be well, Cas. No matter what Drew’s said.”

He didn’t mean to let the last bit out. He really didn’t. It was just that Cas hadn’t been this…this, whatever it was, before Drew took to muttering at him the day before. It was like the guy had managed to put some wormy doubt in Cas’ mind.

Instead of reassuring Cas, the angel looked like he’d been stung, his eyes widening and his head jerking away. 

“I don’t want to talk about Drew,” Cas said, and before Dean could say anything else, the angel had got up and left.


	36. This is too short to deserve a title.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This just feels like it should be in its own tiny chapter. Longer chapter coming up shortly. Or longly. But short in terms of time.

He didn’t want to talk about Drew. Cas didn’t want to talk about Drew. 

Dean sat in the turret room until the tea had turned cold, the thought banging about in his head. 

Cas didn’t want to talk about the guy who had just sworn millennia of love for the angel. To Dean. Who had not wanted to hear it, because that was just something to fuck up his head. Not long ago, they hadn’t even known Cas had this whole network of relationships lurking behind some Naomi-induced mind-wipe, and now Dean was being practically forced into hearing love confessions and then was Cas telling him he didn’t want to talk about the person who’d blurted it out to Dean. When it was none of Dean’s business. None at all.

Except for the fact that Drew had better not mess with the angel while the guy was ill. That would be a dick move and Dean wouldn’t stand for it.

But other than that… 

It was just, something had riled Cas, had made him snap back to prickly and doubtful when he’d looked so much better sitting and drinking tea with Faith, and it had been when Dean had mentioned Drew. So it must be because of something Drew had said. Stood to reason.

Damned if Dean was going to spend all day going back to ask Drew what he’d said, like some sort of seventh grader wanting to know what his crush had said and sending a friend. Not that Cas had asked him to talk to Drew. God, this was screwed up. 

Downing the tea like it was whiskey, Dean left the cup with the others on the floor and went in search of someone who wasn’t making him feel like he was in a teen romance. 

What he found was Seraphine.


	37. Doorway

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dean snarled, pausing in the doorway at the foot of the turret, a hand braced on either side of the door-frame.

Seraphine’s eyes lit up red and blue, and the air in the hallway crackled with energy. More energy that she’d shown before. A light behind her blew, the glass shade cracking, and Dean felt the tell-tale shake to the space around him that said Grace was being pushed out into the world. 

She was more powerful than she’d let on. That much was clear. There’s been none of this before, none of this sense of a thunder-storm threatening, for all her eyes had glowed and she’d cast that spell on Cas. That had all been small-fry compared to the shaking of real power ramping up to attack.

Pushing off from the door, Dean grabbed for his gun and hoped like Hell that a few bullets would at least slow her down. 

“No!”

Drew barreled into Seraphine before Dean could get his gun up, shoving his sister aside and standing in her place, one hand up to ward off the hunter. In a human, it would have been a futile gesture. Pointless. In an angel, there wouldn’t have been any need to hold him off from firing. He had no idea what it meant for a Nephilim. 

“What’s she doing here?” Dean demanded, the sick rush of adrenaline having him too on edge for diplomacy. “She’s the one who hurt Cas!”

Seraphine had hit the wall, her hands up to stop herself just in time, and her right hand rested on the wallpaper now, palm pressed to the floral pattern of blooming roses, as she looked stony-faced at Dean. She looked calmer than before and far more dangerous, like it had all been buried under the surface and could come rushing up at any minute. 

The red of the scarf about her throat and the deeper crimson of her smart wool coat looked out of place in this hallway, which was too light and airy for thoughts of winter. Or murder. 

Drew kept his hand out, his jaw firm, and stared Dean down.

“I asked her to come,” he said.

“What?”

“Calm down, Dean,” Seraphine said, and her voice was more like Faith’s than Dean remembered, but harder and colder. Angrier by far. “I’m not going to try and kill your precious Seraph. Not this time. Not unless I have to.”

A muscle jumped in Drew’s jaw, and Dean lowered the gun. Now he gave himself time to take things in properly, Drew’s shoulders were tensed more in the way of someone who’s not sure their back in safe. He was warning Dean off, but he was worried about his sister, about what she might do to Cas. He didn’t really want her here, either. So why had he asked her to come?

“You aren’t going near him,” Drew said, and this was clearly not aimed at Dean, whatever weirdness there was between them. “I’ve told you, I need you here to explain to me what you did.”

Dean had the feeling that Drew had only just stopped himself from insisting she explain why she’d done it, and there was no doubt in his mind that the conversation would happen at some point. He hoped Drew would agree to him being around when it did. 

“And I’ve told you I have bigger concerns,” Seraphine said, the lights in her eyes fading but not going out entirely. Come to think of it, she was looking on edge, too. Wary. She wasn’t looking directly at Drew, that was for sure.

Drew’s voice was dangerously steady. Level. There was no way anyone spoke like that unless they were pressing down so hard on anger that it risked taking everyone out when it got loose. Dean had heard his dad speak like that, and Sam. 

“You have a bigger concern than saving the life of the Seraph who raised you?” Drew asked. “Bigger concerns than bringing Castiel back to us?”

“Bring him back if you want,” she said. “Please. Do that. Then I can ask him why he left and actually get an answer.”

“He didn’t leave,” Drew said, and his voice was even stiffer. “He was taken. And Naomi-”

“As though Naomi could tear any of us, could tear you, from Castiel’s mind,” Seraphine said, and it was a lot closer to a shout than the distance between them called for. “You know as well as I do that he’d shaken off her conditioning before. What made this time so different?”

Drew’s hand was still out, but his fingers had half-curled, his elbow had bent. Dean got the feeling that Drew had just become so focused on this…whatever it was with his sister that he’d forgotten Dean was there, had forgotten about fending him off.

“And how were we supposed to ask him that if you had succeeded in killing him?”

That feeling of thunder had lessened, the floor and the walls and the air around Dean had stopped feeling like they were about to shake apart, but there was a heaviness that made Dean think staying in the doorway might be a good idea. He still had his gun in his hand, still wanted to use it to get Cas justice for that basement and for everything else Seraphine had done, but…

But there was more going on here than he’d known. Still was. If nothing else, it looked like Drew needed information from the woman to be able to work out how to help Cas, and she needed to be alive for that. They both did. 

He just hoped he could get them to Jay or Faith without them going for each other or for him.

With a muttered curse, he tucked his gun away and left the doorway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's slightly longer.


	38. Ground-rules

The sound of glass clinking onto wood was loud in the room as Jay set down his tumbler and stared at his siblings, his fingertips white where they still gripped the glass. If Dean hadn’t had such a lot of practice with Cas, he might have missed it, that sign that the Nephilim was angry, that he wasn’t all that far behind his brother and his sister in bringing down a storm. 

He held it in a lot better, though. 

“Tell me again why you called her,” he said, apparently calmly, to the space in front of him, not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

Drew stood straight backed and almost vibrating, the gold in his eyes not far off gleaming with something. His jaw was still tight and he looked to be sharing some code with Jay about not meeting anyone’s eyes. 

“Castiel doesn’t know enough about what she did. He wasn’t in a fit state to be taking notes.” 

Seraphine mustn’t have got the memo about avoiding eye-contact, because she shot a look of such dark loathing at Drew that Dean winced. She didn’t speak. Her code of choice seemed to be silence. 

“Regardless,” Jay said, and the lack of anger was somehow worse than if he’d been shouting, “you should have asked first.”

“Asked you?” Drew, impossibly, drew up even taller. “You might have been acting like you’re in charge these last few decades, but-”

“Asked Castiel,” Jay cut in. “Do you not think he deserved at least some warning?”

At that, Drew deflated, the gold dimming to something closer to bronze and his mouth pulling down. His lips parted, closed, parted again and he glanced at Dean and away, a quick, darting look that was far too crowded to make out. Whatever that had been about, it seemed to give Drew some courage, because he straightened up again, even if not quite to the same height as before, and answered in a tone that only just missed sullen defiance.

“Our Seraph isn’t exactly in the best state for making his own decisions,” he said.

Dean bristled, his shoulder-blades digging into the wall where he leaned against it and his arms crossed tight across his chest. He wasn’t stupid, whatever the world sometimes seemed to think, and Drew wasn’t fooling anyone with that dig. 

“Cas can make up his own damn mind,” Dean said, “and whether or not to run smack into your torturer in a house that’s supposed to be full of people who love you,” and he saw the way Drew started at that, loud and clear, “is something he should have fucking been given a choice about.”

“Nevertheless,” Jay said, cutting across whatever Drew had been about to say back, and it seemed he did have top spot in this weird family, because Drew gave way and let him speak, “now that Seraphine is here, we need to agree to certain ground-rules. No matter what each of you may think, you are not the only ones with a vested interest in Castiel. The rest of us care about him, too.”

“Seraphine would seem to be separate from that concern,” Drew said, his lip curling.

For a moment, Dean thought the woman in question was going to respond, but she settled for another look that could be called a curse all by itself before pointedly turning to glare at Jay. Who didn’t meet her eyes. His fingers did tighten a fraction around that glass, though.

“This is not up for debate.” And this time Jay’s voice was a whip-crack. “We can debate the leadership ad infinitum, but the fact remains that he is not himself and he is not in a fit state to take up that role. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

Dean felt his eyebrows lift as yet another thing he should have worked out was painted in giant letters in front of him. Leadership. He should have known. Cas was magnetically drawn to it or some shit, no matter how hard the guy tried to avoid it. Which meant Drew had had his little crush on the boss all those years. Must have been awkward. 

Drew was shaking his head.

“We have honoured you stepping into his place, but no vote has ever been taken. And he is back. Always before, when he’s left us, he’s taken his place again as soon as he’s returned.”

“Once he has healed,” Jay said. “This is not the first time he has returned to us injured.”

“It’s the first time he’s lost all memory of us!” Drew snapped. “For all we know, this may not be reversible. Are you saying he should never take his place? He’s still our Shield, even if he doesn’t know us-”

A noise from Seraphine stopped Drew in his tracks and brought both brothers’ heads round to their sister, who had now taken up the game of not acknowledging anyone else was in the room.

“You have something to say, Sister?” Jay asked, and Dean had trouble imagining Jay ever having taken orders from anyone, even after seeing Cas with his angel army. 

Finally, she spoke, hard and angry, even if it was held in tighter check.

“He was out Shield, but he isn’t now. He abandoned us. Left us to fend for ourselves. He can’t turn up and be put back on that pedestal. He just can’t.”

“He was never on a pedestal,” Drew protested. “He was between us and danger. That deserves your respect.”

“At least one of us put him on a pedestal, Drew,” Seraphine insisted.

That one scored a direct hit. Dean had no idea why. The way Drew had spoken in the garden, the way Faith had acted around him, Dean had figured whatever Drew felt for Cas had been well-known. 

“Up until these last few days,” Drew practically hissed, “I would have said you were the one who came near to worshiping him. What happened? Did you finally grow jealous that he didn’t love you best.”

“Enough!” Jay did shout, surging to his feet and bracing his hands on the desk-top. 

The other two broke off, but that rumble of potential damage was back to beating at Dean’s mind and he shifted his stance so his weight was better positioned for fighting. Or running. If Seraphine tried to go through her brothers to get to Cas, Dean would have to decide how to play it.

Under Jay’s stern look, though, the potential tapered off, and Dean let himself relax enough to speak up again.

“So what are we planning on doing with her?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Jay said. And at Dean’s grunt of protest he shook his head, once, sharply. “She is our sister. She belongs in this family. After all these years, I will not turn her out or restrain her, not unless I must. But be careful, Seraphine. I will not tolerate any harm coming to him. You will not go near him. You will not attempt to see him or to speak to him. Not unless I summon you. You will tell Drew anything he wants to know. And you will stay away from any attempts at spell-casting whilst under my roof. Do you understand?”

“I understand perfectly. Brother.” She was ice-cold disdain, for all her eyes were fire and Grace. “Don’t trouble your perfect little head. I won’t go near the Seraph. Not now. Drew can play at healing and dream of things going back to the way they were, and I will be a good little penitent. But don’t fool yourself. Our old life died the day we thought Castiel died and if you haven’t worked it out by now, you soon will. I’ll be in my room. Send Faith to see me. She, at least, has never entirely lost her head over any angel.”

Without waiting for a word from any of the men, she turned and walked away, stopping in the doorway to speak over her shoulder.

“One point, before I lock myself away. This is not your house. This is our house. And you are not King.”

As her footsteps faded, Dean left his spot by the wall and moved closer to the desk, rolling his shoulders as some of the tension left in her wake.

“One thing I gotta say,” he offered, deciding he’d played meek and quiet long enough and picking up the decanter on Jay’s desk, “you have a way to go before you hit the bottom of the chart for most likable sibling.” 

And he poured himself a drink as Drew glowered at him and Jay downed what was left in his own glass.


	39. Sunlight

This time, Castiel found Dean, out in the garden where he’d gone to sit on a bench right up under a tree and try to calm himself down from all that drama in Jay’s study. The quiet and the fresh air were helping. The warmth of the sunlight on his face was helping. The whiskey was helping more.

“Dean,” Cas said.

He looked up, letting his head roll back against the trunk of the tree, and let himself have a moment to look at the angel. He was a bit…crumpled looking, like he’d been more and more since Metatron, like something celestial had failed to take root in him again even after finding his Grace. Of course, the slope to his shoulders and the way he ducked his head, as though always preparing to avoid a blow…that had started way before, back when Cas wore white and had a mind that skittered away like water on a hot pan. 

“Hey, Cas,” he said. And made no move to ask the angel to sit down with him. He wanted to. Of course he did. It was just he was having trouble working through all of this, and it wasn’t like Cas had taken him up on his offer of a heart to heart up in the tower room. 

“Um. May I join you?” Cas asked.

“You feel like talking now?” And Dean knew he was verging on being dickish, but he’d more or less promised Cas, and promised himself, that he wouldn’t do harm to this bizarre family the guy suddenly seemed to have. At least, not until Cas was all healed up. The Mark didn’t feel to be too happy with that, not after standing to the side and behaving so well just now, when the Mark and Dean both had wanted to smash into anyone who might be threatening harm. Well, Dean had wanted to take on the threat. The Mark had just wanted to smash. 

Hell, the Mark would kind of like Dean to stand up right now and put Cas’ eyes out.

He looked away from Cas and took another drink.

He felt the heat of the angel as he joined him on the bench, which really wasn’t big enough for both of them to sit comfortably, so Cas’ thigh was pressed right up against Dean’s. It was a bright spot of warmth stronger than the sunlight on his face. 

“Were you going to tell me that, er, Seraphine is here?” Cas asked.

Without even looking at him, Dean could tell Cas was gazing off to the side. It was a habit the angel had picked up when talking, right from the start. Dean had never been able to tell if it was something to do with being a soldier, with needing to keep an eye out for potential dangers, or whether it was to avoid having to connect too much with the person he was talking to. Lately, it seemed more to do with being annoyed or uncertain.

“When I saw you,” he answered.

He didn’t add that it would have depended on Cas staying still to listen. He had enough control over himself not to do that. 

“How’d you know, anyway?” Dean asked. “You run into Jay? Drew?”

“No,” Cas said. “I haven’t seen Drew since breakfast.”

He made no mention of when he’d last seen Jay. Perhaps Dean’s comments earlier had been a bit much, if even Cas was picking up on the fact Dean was wound up about Drew. 

“Then how’d you know?”

“I…” Cas paused, huffed, and shifted on the seat. The movement pressed his leg more forcefully against Dean’s. “I can sense her.”

“You can what now?”

“Sense her.” Cas did not sound happy to have to repeat it. “It’s…it’s as though something is tugging at the back of my mind.”

“And just how did you know I’ve seen her?” Dean asked, staring almost unseeing in the direction of some bush with red leaves. He didn’t glance down at Cas’ leg, even though it seemed to be trying to occupy the same space as his.

Cas sounded reluctant when he answered, and there was a slight air of doing penance, as though sharing this made up for something he felt he’d done wrong. 

“I can sense you, too. I know the two of you were close to each other. Physically, that is.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean said. “The emotional connection just seems to have gone, you know? What can I say? People drift apart.”

“They do,” Cas said, and now he sounded sad. 

Dean let his eyes drift shut, the weight on the lids pulling them down. It had been far too long a day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. At least, he didn’t think it was. He just needed a moment to get his balance back before trying to deal with anything else. Just a moment. 

Cas’ leg stopped pressing against his.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, his eyes shooting open and his hand shooting out to grab the angel’s wrist. Cas stopped, perched on the edge of the seat and obviously about to stand. “Don’t wander off. I’m just, you know, tired. It’s been a lot to take in and I ain’t getting any younger. But you don’t have to go running off.”

“I didn’t want to intrude if you wanted some peace,” Cas said, and there was a wary edge to his features. 

Dean’s fingers felt too warm where they gripped Cas, and he couldn’t for the life of him tell if it was because the angel ran so hot that he was really close to burning Dean’s all-too-human fingers, or whether it was some odd response Dean was having. Either way, he told himself to let go. His fingers didn’t seem to get the message.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he said, watching as his own hand tightened around that wrist, bunching the tan fabric. “To be honest, with that woman here, I’d rather have you in sight.”

“She’s somewhere upstairs,” Cas said, making no move to pull his wrist out of Dean’s grip. “And if she does attack me, I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.”

“Fuck that, Cas,” Dean said mildly. The whiskey was finally kicking in. 

“Dean, there are other people here who can stand between Seraphine and me if the need arises. Other Nephilim.”

“Oh, I just bet there are.” Golden eyes and a possessive attitude, no doubt. He could just imagine Drew throwing himself headfirst into that challenge. “Doesn’t mean they’ll get to.”

At that, Cas’ fingers curled into something close to a fist, a stronger reaction than Dean was used to. Looked like he’d hit a nerve.

“I am grateful for all that you have done for me of late. You and Sam both. And Charlie, and Jodie and Jodie’s daughter. You have all aided me in this. But that does not mean you get to risk yourself for me. I do not belong to you, Dean.”

Cas moved his hand and Dean felt the pull, but he clung on, seeing the way the angel’s fingers tensed and splayed out. It was almost balletic. 

“I never said you did,” Dean said. “Doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not I’ll get in between you and someone trying to torture you to death. Come on, man. That’s just what I do.”

“No,” Cas said. “It’s what you think you do. It’s what you try to do. But there are times when all you manage is to hurt yourself, and I will not have that. Not for this. Besides…” And now he really sounded like he’d rather not be saying anything. “Besides, if they are right, these people who claim to be my family, then I can only die if you kill me. So perhaps you shouldn’t be here.”

At that, Dean took the time to study Cas’ face. The guy was staring at the point where his wrist met Dean’s hand.

“No,” Dean said. “No, I don’t think so. Least ways, this has got nothing to do with it being best for you. You just want me out of here to keep me safe, like that’s ever an option for us. Any of us. Hell, you’ve seen me let Sammy walk into some deathtrap more than once. You can’t always keep the people you love safe, Cas. Not in this line of work.”

“No,” Cas said, much softer than Dean had. “You can’t.”

And Dean had no idea whether Cas meant he couldn’t keep Dean safe, or whether he was warning Dean that Cas was in danger no matter what Dean did. Either way, it took the last bit of warmth out of the sunlight.


	40. Marking

Faith’s study was a warm little space packed with bookcases and trailing green plants. It was messier by far than anything Dean would have expected from her when they first met, but that wasn’t as surprising as the fact that she was doing exactly what she had said she’d be doing. Marking.

Her head rested on one hand and she tracked over a sheet of paper with a pen, pausing to make neat annotations in the margin or to underline something. She was deep enough in she didn’t realise Dean was in the doorway. At least, she didn’t stop marking or look up.

“Faith?” Dean said, not sure why he was phrasing it as a question. 

“Just a minute,” she said. “Let me finish this one.”

Dean waited. He used the time to turn and gesture to Cas, who was hanging back in the hallway, urging him to make it all the way into the room. He still didn’t look happy, but at least he followed Dean in. And drifted over to one of the bookcases right away, trailing one of those long fingers along the rim of a bowl as though it meant something to him. Maybe it did. Dean kept having those moments lately, the ones where he looked at Cas and got that his friend was way older than Dean. For all he knew, that ancient looking bowl was just like one Cas had used at some point, and now it was sitting on a shelf, gathering dust. Gave a different perspective on things.

“Okay. That was a fun one,” Faith said, dropping the pen and yawning as she dipped her head to one side and then the other, stretching her neck. “Remind me never to set that essay question again. If I read one more unsupported assertion more based on Hollywood movies than on any actual evidence… Well. Let’s say it’s even more jarring when you remember the civilisation in question.”

She finished stretching and turned to face Dean, hooking her arms over the back of her chair and resting her chin on them, her legs crossed at the ankles to the side. She gave a good impression of not having noticed Cas was in the room.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. 

Reaching out without looking, Dean hooked his hand around Cas’ upper arm and pulled the angel towards him. He could feel the tension in his friend, but he kept hold. Cas had sounded dangerously like he was building up to doing something to protect Dean and that shit was not going to fly. Time for Dean to do something instead.

“You can fill us in on what your sister’s beef is with Cas, and while you’re at it you can explain the whole, messed-up tangle of relationships you lot have got going on, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but one of your brother’s has a real thing for Cas, here, and it’s kinda creepy.”

Cas’ arm jerked, but didn’t pull out of Dean’s grasp. He didn’t look. This was a facing it head-on situation. Cas would thank him later.

“I take it we’re talking about Drew,” Faith said, without lifting her chin from her arms. 

“You take it…? Yes! Of course we’re talking about Drew.” Dean only realised he’d pulled Cas even closer when the angel’s shoulder bumped against his. “Why? Is there someone else we should know about?”

“No. I’m pretty sure any other contenders died some time back.”

“Other?” Dean looked at Cas. Jesus, the guy was close. “You getting this?”

Cas slanted his eyes in Dean’s direction, not bothering to confirm that he could hear what Dean could hear when they were practically occupying the same space. The look also got across the sense that Cas didn’t see what the big deal was. He’d never seemed to get why people might be attracted to him, or that he should maybe not just go along with it. Meg was a perfect example. Always assuming Cas had even understood at the time what a kiss like that usually meant, and hadn’t just been playing angel-see, angel-do. 

Sam and Dean had had an intense discussion about what it was and was not okay to let the angel watch after that. 

“Look. I know he’s your brother, but it’s a bit much having the guy who’s crushing on him trying to heal Cas-”

Something in Faith’s expression stopped up the words. Dean studied her, watched her sit up and shift so that she had one hand on the chair-back and one resting on the desk, like anchors. 

“What? What is it?” Dean asked. “You think it’s just peachy to have all this…this…whatever it is getting in the way of figuring out a fix?”

“Dean,” Cas broke in, his voice soft and warning. 

All of a sudden, Dean clocked the way Faith’s gaze had wandered off to the side, noticed that Cas had been silent through this. 

“There something you know you haven’t told me?” he asked his friend, only half looking at him. 

Cas didn’t look back. He didn’t look at Faith, either. He was staring at something on the wall, a drawing of a city like the ones in the book at the bunker. He looked…almost longing. 

“Yes,” he admitted, after a pause. “Many things. I suppose you forget how old I am. Even if I don’t remember most of what I’ve lived, there’s still a lot I haven’t told you. But…” Cas still wasn’t looking at Dean, but now he seemed to be very obviously not looking at Dean. “But this… I already talked with Faith about Drew.”

“Up in the tower? Over tea?” Dean asked, understanding seeping in. That damned smirk crept onto his face, and he was under no illusions that Cas would be fooled by it. He must have seen it on Dean a thousand times. “I miss anything good?” 

“No.”

It was a flat statement. It shouldn’t have had room in it for so many layers.

“You wanna try that again?”

“Not particularly,” Cas said.

The scraping of wood on wood pulled Dean’s attention back to Faith as she pushed her chair under the desk and turned to face him, something like sympathy on her face. Something like resolve, as well.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t just have me tell him?” she asked, and it was clearly directed at Cas. “It’s causing conflict, and you don’t need conflict. Even I can feel the way your grace is straining, wrapped up as it is.”

“If it’s hurting you to keep shit from me, just tell me, Cas. Come on.” And it wasn’t even about finding an angle to get at information. The whole point of being here was to get a cure, and if Cas was hiding something, for whatever stupid reason he might have, and that was hurting him, then it needed to be dragged out of him right the hell now. 

There was silence, Cas staring at the wall as Dean stared at Cas. He could feel Faith watching them both. Finally, the angel sighed and shrugged, a gesture that Faith seemed to read easily.

“All right, then,” she breathed, as though she hadn’t fully expected that to work and wasn’t entirely ready to go ahead. “You already know that Drew cares about Cas.”

“Full on stated he loves him,” Dean butted in.

Cas stiffened and drew in on himself.

“What I told Cas earlier, and please remember that he has only known about this himself for a few hours, is that there was a time when Castiel cared for Drew. Not as much, perhaps, although only Castiel with his true memories could answer that.” She paused, as though leaving space for Cas to announce that, yes, it had all come flooding back to him, and went on when it became clear that wasn’t going to happen. “But enough that it caused some friction among us. I always assumed that was why they left.”

“Who left?” Dean asked, needing to hear everything spelled out about this. It all sounded so…fantastical. Weird. Untrue.

“Castiel and Drew,” Faith answered gently. “Castiel left Jay in charge, which is why he stepped into the role once…” She paused and her breathing wavered, just for a second. “In any case, it had been many years since any of us had seen an angel in love, and most of us believed what we were seeing, but I was never sure, never entirely sure, that Castiel loved Drew. Not enough to leave with him. I always wondered if there was some other reason.”

“Like what?” Dean asked, just trying to stay upright against this wave. 

Cas was still silent, still staring off. Distancing himself. 

“There must have been reasons,” Faith said. “Maybe Drew’s skills with spell-craft were needed. Perhaps there was a mission that required playing at being married. It could have been simply a chance to work things out, I suppose, and decide if being together was the right thing. In any case, we didn’t see either of them again for years. And then Drew rang and begged that we come and help, and Jay and Seraphine and I, we all went, and Drew was-” She cut herself off and didn’t start again.

“Drew was?” Drean prompted.

At last, Cas looked away from the portrait and met Dean’s eyes.

“Drew was leaning over my empty vessel, believing me to be dead.”

“But you’re alive,” Dean said.

“You’ve seen me die, Dean. More than once. Are the memories easy for you now, because I’m here?” Cas didn’t wait for Dean to respond. “You’ve seen Sam die. He’s seen you die. Do either of you find those memories pleasant? Unremarkable? I don’t remember it, but I can see it on his face when he looks at me, and it is painful.”

Dean shook his head, processing too much effort, it seemed, for it to settle in right away. He’d already been told that Drew had found Cas’ body, or else had seen him die, but it sounded so much more real, hearing it again. There was something, though, that had been said…

“Hang on a minute. Playing at being married? How long ago was this? Where was this?”

“As I understand it, it was in Italy,” Cas said. 

“Are they big on same-sex marriage?”

Faith’s snort caught his attention.

“Not the first thought that comes to mind,” she said. “You’re thinking like a human again.”

“Probably because I am one,” Dean said, wanting to steady himself, as though his feet really weren’t on solid ground. “So how’d they play at being married?” 

Faith looked like she wanted to roll her eyes.

“At the time, Castiel’s vessel was a woman. For some reason, Seraphine has always seemed upset about that. I am truly not sure why. She wasn’t exactly delighted when Drew made his interest known originally, but Castiel’s vessel was a man then. Of the same line as this one.” She waved a hand at Cas, who dipped his head in acknowledgment of the information. “When the vessel had to be changed, and a woman said yes… Well, I didn’t notice it at first, but Seraphine took issue with it. I think, if nothing else, that may be why the two of you left.”

Again, she was addressing Cas, and he looked to be considering something.

“You never found out why we left?” he asked, at last. 

“No. Even after… Even after, Drew wouldn’t say. I always thought Seraphine had an idea, but she’s never seen fit to share that with me. And then she’s hardly been around since. To be honest, I was hoping your memories would resurface and you would fill in the gaps.”

Cas sighed. 

“If I could remember… It’s strange, to know that Naomi has altered my memories so much, that my mind is not the clear and perfect thing I once thought it was. I’m…just as flawed as any human, it would seem.”

Faith watched him for a few moments longer before turning back to Dean, something lost hovering beneath her expression. 

“Whatever happened back then, and why ever Seraphine is hellbent on…her course of action, Drew will work tirelessly to find a cure. You can trust that,” she said.

“But you can’t tell us any more about all of that?” Dean asked.

Again, she hesitated, and shook her head.

“No. No, I can’t dredge up anything else I can tell you. The whole thing is…mysterious.” 

At her shrug, Dean nodded and tried out a smile. He was pretty sure it came out fractured. 

“Well. If you can’t, you can’t. Guess I’ll just have to trust that Drew’ll keep any creepiness to a minimum.” He glanced at Cas. “You coming?”

“I think I’ll stay here. Faith has some fascinating books.”

But he wasn’t looking at Dean. Still. Was this all because Dean had said he’d stop Seraphine from hurting his friend? In Cas’ twisted angel mind was Dean just supposed to let him get hurt?

Fine. Having Cas around might slow him down anyway.

“Okay,” he said. “Then I guess I’ll see you later. Thanks for the talk. It was, you know, really useful. But it’s been a really long morning and I think I need to take the weight of my feet. Get some shut-eye.” 

He really was tired, and it had nothing to do with the beer. Nothing at all.

Faith waved at him as he left, and he didn’t bother looking to see what Cas was doing. Probably communing with an ancient dictionary or something. At least he knew Cas would be safe with Faith. She was the one who’d brought him here, who’d arranged it so Drew would come and help, even if Dean would have liked a head’s up on quite what they were getting into here. Forewarned and all that. 

Which was why he turned away from the bedroom Cas and he had been given, and headed up to the part of the house he was pretty certain held a certain murderous Nephilim who was apparently a lot too good at holding a grudge, even if no-one else knew what for.


	41. Bloodlines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally hearing a bit more about Seraphine's motives. And for some reason, I just cannot resist imagining something of this background for Cas.

He caught Seraphine with her back to the door.

She was in his hold, angel blade to her throat, before the door had swung shut behind him, and Dean felt vicious pleasure uncurl in his gut as she struggled, registered the blade, and gave in. 

“Not got Cas to use as a bargaining chip, this time,” he whispered in her ear. 

He wasn’t so far gone in anger or pleasure or whatever it was that had seeped into his system as he’d headed to her room that he’d forgotten about keeping it down. However upset her siblings were with her, Dean still didn’t know how close these Nephilim were, how much they cared for each other. For all he knew, Faith could come after Dean with a gun if she heard him threatening her sister. Drew and Jay could likely do damage without a gun. They’d stayed quiet on just how angelic they were. All Dean knew was, more so than Faith. 

And Drew no doubt knew a tonne of magic he could use. 

So he had to keep this low-key. He had to get her to talk without bringing them all down on him. 

He wasn’t planning on this taking long, so he stayed right where he was, his grip on her firm and unyielding and that blade forcing her to take this seriously. To take Dean seriously. She’d seemed so…smug and bitter back when she’d talked to him before. Back when she’d been playing him to get things lined up all ready to cast that spell on Cas. To pull his wings out and do…whatever it was she’d done that had left him almost powerless and ready to shatter.

“You need to tell me how to fix him,” he said, his voice a low growl that he made no attempt to soften. “And you need to tell me now.”

He could see her face, was tall enough to lean over her shoulder as he held her, and the tightness in her features was enough to show she wasn’t going to crack. Not easily. Which only meant he’d have to do this less easily.

“Don’t think I care if you make it out of this alive,” he all but snarled. “You think I’m scared of your brothers? You sister? Because I’m pretty sure they don’t like you much right now, and I’ve faced down actual angels. Hell, I’ve faced down archangels. You think a jumped up half-angel like you is going to stand a chance against me?”

It looked to take real effort for her to unclench her jaw and speak, reluctance wrapping round every word.

“You might not care if I die,” she said, “and I’m not even sure my…brothers and sister will care. But Castiel will care.”

“Why?”

She laughed. It was a short, harsh bark of a laugh, then kind that said there was really nothing amusing about anything in the world at all. 

“He doesn’t remember me. But he will. Now he knows, now he’s met us again, and now he has his own Grace powering what’s left of him, he’ll remember. And when he does, I promise you Dean, if I am dead at your hands he will hate you.”

“Sister, you bound him to a chair in a creepy-ass basement and shoved a meat-hook into his back. Cas has killed his own kind before, angels he called brother and sister. Why’d he care do much more about you?”

“You don’t have to believe me. Not about that. But know that the spell I cast bound him to me, much the way he’s bound to you. If you kill me, you do risk killing him.”

Dean stared at her. He could see no lie in what she said. She meant it. 

With a curse, he let go, pushing her away from him and watching her sprawl over the bed, dark hair spilling over her face. He left her to pull herself upright, still holding the angel-blade ready in his hand in case she thought to come at him. Instead, she twisted herself so she was sitting on the bed, one knee pulled up to her chest. She squinted up at him, and Dean felt the first stirrings of uneasiness at the way she did that. 

It was… It was eerie, is what it was. 

“Exactly what are you to Cas?” he asked. “What were you?”

She shook her head, looking away. 

“It doesn’t matter. I’m not talking about it anyway. And you won’t get any of the others to talk about it.”

“Why? It some big secret?”

At that, she looked back at him, a frown pinching the skin between her eyebrows. Shifting on the bed, she somehow looked more vulnerable, sagging down like she was just so tired of all this, like she wanted it over.

“Drew doesn’t know. Faith…I think Faith suspects, but she’s never asked. Jay knows, I’m sure of it, but I’m also pretty certain he thinks he’s the only one who knows. And as for the others-”

“Others? What others?” Despite himself, Dean had lowered the blade, he realised. His hand had dropped down near his side. He left it there. At the moment, Seraphine looked defeated, even though she’d been so defiant a few moments ago. Something he’d said had got through to her. 

“You think we’re the only ones?” she asked. “The only Nephilim? The only ones in this sprawling, chaotic family of mine? We were a whole civilisation. Raphael and his ilk did not get everyone but us.” She paused, curling one arm around her raised knee as though she needed something to hang on to. “I suppose, if we really were all that had made it out, Jay might have shared the secret with us. Castiel might. Instead of finding out… Not that it matters. It doesn’t change the fact he left us, or what I… It doesn’t change anything.”

“Lady,” Dean said, “you had better start making sense.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? You’re awfully free with the threats to say how angry you get when someone you’ve claimed is hurt.”

“I never- You know what? It doesn’t matter what you keep spouting about claims and ownership and whatever-the-fuck else. I am going to see Cas healed and then we’ll see who he cares about keeping alive.”

That didn’t seem to move her at all. 

“Unless you want to tell me why you think he’d be so upset. It got anything to do with why you were so bent out of shape over Cas and Drew getting together back in the day?”

She jolted. That was the only word for it. A full body jolt that left her staring up at Dean with wide eyes.

“Drew told you?” She sounded shocked.

“No. Faith did. She told Cas, too. Drew only told me he loves Cas. I’ve got no clue how Cas really feels about any of it. He certainly didn’t tell me you were all off-limits.”

Which…okay. That was sort of lying. Cas had made it clear, at the very least, that Dean wasn’t to go hunting these creatures. But Cas sometimes came over all soft and bleeding-heart. Other times, the dude slaughtered hundreds. Hard to say where he’d fall on killing Seraphine. 

“Faith doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” 

And Seraphine shut down. Dean could see it in the way her face went still and her eyes hardened. 

“Oh, no. You don’t get to clam up on me. There’s something here you aren’t telling me. Cas would care if you died? Why? What makes you so special? Why’d you get angry at Drew and Cas being together? Has this got anything to do with you attacking Cas? With the whole wanting him dead thing?”

She drew in on herself a bit more with every question. 

Dean clenched his jaw and ran his free hand down his face. He needed patience. He knew that. But he only had a fraction of a handful of people left and Cas was one of the most important ones. He didn’t have time for patience.

“I’ll make this easy on you,” he said, fixing her again with a hard look. “You answer my questions or I’ll stick you right here. Cas can be upset about it later. When he’s cured. Because that bond thing? I don’t believe you. If you had made a bond like that, you’d be able to kill him. You said that’s how it works. You wouldn’t need me to do it, then.

“I couldn’t overwrite your bond,” she said, sounding irritated. “I only added a lesser bond of my own, and it’s not like I wanted to-”

She cut herself off, paling. Something she hadn’t meant to let slip, then.

“You didn’t want to? Then why’d you do it? Who exactly are you doing this for? What was with the whole ‘you or them’ thing?”

She looked at him like she had no idea what he was talking about, then blinked, understanding dawning on her face.

“I forgot I had you watch that,” she said. “Not my idea. At least, I wouldn’t have thought of it without…” She looked away again, hugging her knee more tightly. “You have to understand, Hunter. I am…angry with Castiel. I am hurt and have been hurt for a long, long time, but I would not harm him if I had another choice. His abandonment, it has left me no choice.”

“You see, you keep saying that,” Dean said, “but the way I see it, you have plenty of choices. You can tell me, right now, how to fix him. You can tell Drew, or Jay, or Faith. Hell, you can even troop on down and tell Cas. Whatever it is that’s making you do this, if it’s not just for payback, then tell someone. Find another way.”

“There is no other way,” she said. “Castiel tied himself to us when he offered to be our shield. He did that long ago. When he left us, he left us without protection, and that weakness was exploited. And now, my son…”

She shut her eyes, and Dean had the horrible feeling she was on the verge of tears.

“What about your kid? You got to go back to him.”

“No,” she said. “No. I didn’t. Because he was not at the house. He was taken from me, and the people who took him… They have tried to bind him to them, but it hasn’t worked, because of the bond Castiel has with him, through me. And so Castiel must die, so the bond can break, and they can complete there claim.”

“You want to kill Cas so some assholes can bind your son? What kind of fucked up reasoning is that? Tell Jay. He seems the type to help out his nephew, for fuck’s sake.”

“A bond of this sort, whilst not the type of bond you have forged with Castiel, cannot be broken except by death. And if I tell Jay, or any of them, all that will happen is they will walk into death’s jaws. For nothing. They can’t stand against the people who have my Sebastian. I have to choose, between my son and my- It doesn’t matter. The choice is made. Whether you kill him now, willingly, or not, the Seraph will shatter. If you choose to drag him back after that, know he will be in pieces, still. Fractured. However much you think you’ve seen him suffer before, it will be a hundred, a thousand times worse, and you will have to kill him then. If you have any love for him, you will kill him then. And I will save my son’s life, even if it is to watch him be bound to the King.”

“The King?”

She seemed to realise she’d said too much, her eyes widening. There was a desperate, frantic edge to her voice.

“You may think you have something to take to Drew. To Jay. But I promise you, if you bring this to them, you will do nothing but get them hurt. Or killed. And Castiel will still shatter. There is no way to stop that now, brilliant at his spell-craft as my cousin is.”

“Brother.”

“What?” In her determination to talk Dean into staying quiet, she didn’t seem to have realised she’d said that at all.

“Brother. Drew’s your brother. But you called him your cousin. Why?”

Although he had some ideas. The way she squinted, the way Jay tilted his head… He just couldn’t quite bring himself to think it fully. 

She stared at him for almost a full minute, the time stretching out in silence, before she grimaced and gave in. He could see it in the lines of her body.

“Fine. See if it matters. They’ve already found us, and Jay can persuade you better than I can that this is dangerous information. Maybe you’ll believe me and keep it from the others. From any others. If you truly care for Castiel, you will keep it from him, as well. I can’t see how it could bring him anything but pain. Not at this point. Not when he must die soon.”

“Keep what from Cas?” Dean knew he sounded steely. Murderously calm. 

Seraphine straightened, too, as though facing down a court martial. 

“Drew is not my brother. I’ve never been sure, exactly, of his true relationship to us, but he does not share our parentage. He has been with us since the city fell. Before that, we’d never met.”

Dean nodded and gestured for her to go on. He didn’t care who Drew’s parents were. Drew didn’t give him that same, creepy vibe as the others. Drew had a creepiness all of his own.

“Jay’s the only one who knows, I’m sure of it. The only one except for me. I found out back when Drew first let his feelings be known. It was…wrong. I’m almost sure that Castiel cared for Drew’s mother, as well as our own.”

“You what?”

She locked eyes with him, then, as though, now she was telling him, she wanted to see how the words hit.

“Drew is not my brother,” she repeated. “But Jay is, and Faith is my sister. And Castiel is our father. The child you care so little about saving is his grandson.”


	42. Daughter

“You are Cas’ kid? Cas has kids?”

That thought would not settle in Dean’s mind. Cas with a kid. No. Cas with three kids. Freaky, part-angel, dangerous kids. One of them, at least.

“And you did all that to him? To your own…” He trailed off, his mouth not quite able to frame the last word. It wasn’t a word that would attach itself to Cas. 

Seraphine had that wrung out look to her that people got once they’d been pushed to a breaking point. Dean had seen in on Sam before. Hell, he’d seen it on Cas. It was eerily similar to the way the woman on the bed looked, now. And that still made no sense. Seraphine wasn’t even the same skin tone as Jay, or Faith. 

“You don’t all look the same,” he tried next, sure he was already supposed to have worked this out, but his mind needed something to pick at while he processed this. What the fuck would he say to Cas? “Did you not all have the same Mom?”

She snorted, letting go of her knee and crossing her arms across her chest.

“Of course we didn’t. I’m almost five hundred years younger than Jay. You think a human could live that long? And Faith’s even younger.”

“So, Cas…he…but…” 

Dean still held that blade, but now it felt like some parody of a threat. This was not fitting in with his image of Cas at all. Unbidden, a fleeting image of a ragged and bitter Cas flashed across his mind, one who seemed more than okay to indulge in whatever he felt like with as many people as possible. But that Cas wasn’t this Cas. This Cas had said, after that incident with the reaper, that hedonism was dangerous and best avoided. 

All right, so five hundred years was a long time, but somehow it still felt too much like flitting about between people for the Cas Dean knew.

“Besides,” the woman he was really not okay with thinking of as Cas’ daughter went on, “it isn’t like Castiel had the same vessel the entire time, either.” She snorted again, something a bit closer to a laugh. “If you must know, and I can see this blowing your tiny little mind, he isn’t even Faith’s father. It’s just easier to say he’s the same to all of us.” She lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head in a way that might as well have slapped Dean round the face. “Technically, he’s Faith’s mother.”

That barely even registered. Most of his mind was still churning away trying to make sense of Cas being a parent at all, let alone that he’d played both of the roles Dean was used to hearing about. Besides, a parent was a parent. That was the key point, here.

“Fact is, you tied down and tortured your own dad. You tried to get me to kill him. You say he’s going to…shatter or some shit, and this is what you want to happen. That’s sick.”

“You have no idea,” she said, and she sounded to be saying that mostly to herself.

It took some of the fight out of Dean. He glanced down at the angel blade and frowned. Thing was, her being Cas’, it made a difference. Maybe it shouldn’t have. Hell, he’d watched Sam shoot Dean’s own daughter, and he resented that anything was making him think of that. Even though he’d never known her, not for more than a few minutes, and even though she’d been trying to kill him, that had hurt. It was one of many things he’d pushed down and hidden away inside and promised himself he’d never think of again.

He was still working on how to actually keep that promise.

But even with Cas not remembering any of these Nephilim, there was a pretty strong feeling that he might get his memories back, and if he remembered, and Dean had killed one of they guy’s daughters… 

“You have to tell him,” he said, using the blade to point at Seraphine. “This…this is fucked up, but he needs to know what you are to him.”

“Really?” she asked. “You really think that will help? Perhaps it hasn’t sunk in, Dean, but he has never, not once, called me his daughter. Not to my face. I’m not even meant to know. To the best of my knowledge, Faith doesn’t know. Right at this moment, the only one who knows, other than you, is Jay, and he’s never so much as hinted…”

She looked away, and Dean loathed the thread of fellow-feeling that sprang up at that. A brother lying, a brother keeping secrets. Yeah. He knew how that felt. But she didn’t deserve any of his empathy. 

“And you’ve never taken this to Jay? You’ve never asked him why he’s kept it a secret?”

She shook her head.

“I have a pretty good idea why he’s never said. Castiel will have ordered him not to. But I can’t risk letting Jay know I have this information.”

Dean finally put the blade away. With a look to check that the woman he’d come up here fully okay with killing was still just sitting on the bed, he dropped into the chair in the corner. This was just…

“Why can’t you risk it? Where’s the risk?”

She flicked a glance at him, a dark, considering look in her eyes.

“Are you under the impression we’re allies, now? You know I won’t put the life of the Seraph who lied to me, who abandoned me, ahead of Sebastian’s.”

Dean waved a hand. Yeah. She’d made that clear. Just like Dean had made it clear he would see Cas safe. Those lines didn’t need redrawing. There was something else going on here, though, and he needed to know what.

“Very well,” she said. “God knows, it’s not been easy, keeping this all to myself. Not knowing who to trust.” She sat forwards, her face intent, and with that edge to her gone, the one that had been pushing her through actions Dean still couldn’t understand anyone managing against her own parent, she suddenly looked a lot more like an angel. Or like Cas sometimes looked, anyway. Focused and serious. “I discovered my lineage only just before Cas and Drew vanished, and I didn’t have time to take this knowledge to him and ask why, but I tracked them down, and it became clear they were being followed by others.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask who, and she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

“I’ll get to that. The point is, I lost them, Drew and Cas, and when I found them again it was too late. I arrived after Castiel was dead, and I have never been sure who killed him.”

The way she said it…

“You think Drew might have done it. Or Jay. You don’t trust your own brothers.”

Not that Drew was her brother, but that was how they’d all been talking about each other. Another thought rose up.

“What about Faith?”

Seraphine shook her head.

“Faith is the only one I trust not to be involved. She inspires Faith in others, but she has a lot of it herself, as well. She would never hurt him.”

Which would be a lot more reassuring if he hadn’t been told that Drew would never hurt Cas, and now Seraphine was saying she suspected he’d killed Cas in a previous life. Well, vessel. 

“That’s why you’re not trying to get to Cas here,” he said, disgust in his voice. “You think one of them will do the job for you.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off.

“No. No. I can’t believe you suckered me in. All of that talk of secrets and not knowing who to trust. You don’t care. You want Cas dead and there might be three of you happy to off him. We are done here.”

As he strode out of the room, he heard her behind him, her voice a hiss.

“Need. Not want. I did not turn on him first!”


	43. Advice

He was halfway back to Faith’s study, ready to spill the whole lot to the both of them, when doubt hit him.

Cas wasn’t well. Hell, he was practically a dead angel walking. Was having all of this dumped on him really going to help? Only… They were his kids. Shouldn’t he know that?

Dean changed direction, heading for the room he’d told Faith and Cas he would be in anyway, and when he got there he shut the door and pulled out his phone. It was past time to update Sam.

His brother was as floored by it as he was. And a lot more certain about what Dean should do. Or shouldn’t.

“You can’t tell him, Dean,” Sam insisted. “If he’s anything like when he was here, he’s not up to hearing it. Get him better first and then break it to him.”

“Sam… That’s a lot to keep from someone.”

“Sounds like he’s kept it quiet from them. Come on, Dean, it’s not like we know how angel families work. A few days ago, we didn’t even know they had families. Not like this. For all we know, all angels kept who they were from their kids. Heavenly protocol or something.”

Dean shrugged, even though Sam couldn’t see it, and sat down on the bed. He’d near paced a hole in the carpet already and it was making him more jittery, not less. 

“Sounds like at least some of the Nephilim knew their parents. I mean, Faith and Jay, they mentioned Gabriel’s daughter and that Uriel had a kid. They didn’t say anything to make out either one of them was kept in the dark. Anyway, since when would it being protocol make it right? It makes no difference. We’ve got Cas not knowing any of them are his, and Faith still not knowing he’s her dad.” He stopped and considered changing the word, but he hadn’t told Sam that bit yet and it wasn’t a detail they needed to get hung up on. It didn’t change anything. “Sam, I just don’t know that I can look him in the eye and not tell him.”

“Do you really think it will help?”

And that was it. Would it help? If it got Cas more upset, and he was plenty upset, it seemed to Dean, as it was, then it was wrong to tell him. Right? Dean could tell him later, when the angel was stronger. 

When they’d found a way to keep him alive, whatever Seraphine kept saying. 

“It just doesn’t sit right.”

But that wasn’t reason enough to cause more confusion for the angel. It just wasn’t. And Faith had spoken of how Cas had guarded them. There’d been mention of Cas raising Seraphine. It didn’t seem like keeping his official relationship with them secret had stopped him from filling the role anyhow. He couldn’t for the life of him work out why it would be kept secret. 

And it wasn’t as important as the fact that Seraphine, the one who’d kicked all this off, thought Drew and Jay both needed watching. 

Talk about a fucking tangled web. 

“So, what are you going to do? And are you sure you don’t need me there? I mean, if this family of his might have killed him… I can be there, no problems. Cas is my family, too.”

It wasn’t a difficult decision. He’d asked Sam to stay behind for sensible reasons, but the danger of being here without backup, and with Cas zoning out without warning, was just too much. Dean needed his brother. Cas needed both of them.

“Charlie and the others be all right with you taking off?”

“Dean, Charlie’s started indexing the library. She’ll be delighted I’m out of her hair. And Jodie wants to get her girl back home. She’s only hanging around here in case we need her.”

Which was good of her. Dean felt his heart warm at the reminder they weren’t all on their own these days. They had more support than they’d had since way back, back when Meg and Hellhounds and a make-shift bomb had taken out a good chunk of the family there were piecing together at the time. 

He still missed them. He missed Kevin. And, dear God, he missed Bobby. 

Which brought him back to this whole mess. Cas had forgotten his family, but they were still here, and there was a chance the guy’s memories would come back. Wouldn’t they come back faster with a little push? Could Dean really deny him the chance to know his own kids? Even if one of them might have had him killed…

“Yeah, Sam. Get here. This is too much to deal with. I need to slice and dice these fuckers…yeah, I can probably handle that on my own,” and he didn’t think too much on whether he’d have been that confident before the Mark, “but this family crap… That ain’t in our wheelhouse.”

Sam’s silence filled in what neither of them said. It wasn’t in their wheelhouse because when they found family, it got ripped away from them, bloody and quick. Which made it all the more important they hung on to Cas, the awkward, unlucky sod. Who’d apparently got at least three kids by three different people, and Dean was not managing to wrap his head around that one at all. 

“Sure, Dean,” Sam said. “I’ll be there by the morning.”


	44. Guilt

It was hard to keep his newfound knowledge to himself when he ventured back down to check on Cas. 

His eyes were gritty. Never had got around to that nap. It didn’t help when he found Cas only to see the angel was surrounded by the people Dean now knew far too much about. They were in the kitchen, all of them but Seraphine, with Cas sitting at the island and Faith at his side. 

Jay was sitting on Cas’ other side, watching as Drew cooked, handling a knife a little too well for Dean’s liking. 

He fought down a visceral need to get Cas away from them. Even from Faith. God, Cas was sitting in between two of his kids and he didn’t even know. And one of them didn’t know. What was Jay’s take on all of this? 

Dean tried to imagine sitting next to his dad, sitting next to John Winchester knowing he was his dad and not being able to say. But then, he didn’t have to imagine. He’d done that. It had been back before John had been hid dad, though. It made a difference. Dean hadn’t been able to say anything. Jay was choosing not to. 

Of course, now Dean was choosing not to, as well. 

“Hey,” he said, claiming the chair to Jay’s right. “What’ve I been missing?”

“Dean,” Cas said, warmly. Dean didn’t miss the fact that Drew paused for a second at that before carrying on chopping. “Faith showed me some of the books she has written. She is very talented.”

Dean saw how Faith smiled at that, how she sat a fraction straighter. She might not know Cas was her mom, and that was not working in Dean’s head, damn it, but she was as pleased at his praise as any kid would be. 

“Yeah? Bit-shot academic writer, huh? Go, you.”

Despite the phrasing, he saw Faith smile at him, too. She could read him well, it seemed. At any rate, she looked to be getting that whatever was eating at Dean it wasn’t her doing. 

“Big enough,” she said. “Did you have a decent nap?”

Dean stared at her for just a shade too long. Nap. Yeah. Right. That’s what he’d said.

“Great. Thanks.” 

He caught Cas’ odd look. Obviously, the angel was feeling well enough to notice something was off about Dean. He’d have to watch that. He didn’t need Cas asking any questions Dean wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t even know most of the answers, even after his little chat with Seraphine. 

He tried smiling at his friend in a way he thought was reassuring. It seemed to work. At least, Cas gave another look and turned back to Faith, leaning in and giving one of those tiny part-smiles of his. Faith leaned right back, touching her index finger to the back of Cas’ hand. If Dean hadn’t known the real relationship there, he could have thought something else was going on. 

Of course, neither of them knew she was his daughter. 

“So, Cas, any more ideas on how to heal you up?” He didn’t quite keep the gruffness out of his words, but better they looked at him strangely than that they ended up in some weird as fuck Game-of-Thrones situation. It would just be typical for Cas to choose now to come over all desperate for a girlfriend. And now he needed brain-bleach. “And Jay,” he went on, knowing he hadn’t given Cas any time to reply but just needing to keep talking, “hope you don’t mind, but my brother said he’d swing by in the morning. That all right? Sam kind of sees Cas here as a brother, same as I do.”

And there was no need for the look Faith gave him at that statement. 

“It will be good to see Sam,” Cas said, as though he hadn’t just seen Sam the other day. Maybe he didn’t really remember it. Cas had been kind of out of it. 

Jay looked at Dean, then Cas, then Dean again, with a quick glance at Drew in passing. He finally settled on meeting Dean’s eyes and nodding, his face more or less expressionless.

“I see no issue with that. Will he be staying with us for long?”

“I guess until Cas is better. Like I said, pretty much a brother to both of us, is Cas. We look after our own.”

He was being off again. If he didn’t rein it in, Cas was going to want to know what was wrong, and then what could he say? 

“Of course,” Jay said. If there was a hint of uneasiness in his reply, it was small enough that Dean couldn’t be sure it was really there. “It will be good to see more of Castiel’s new family.”

Okay. There had been a note there, something in the word ‘new’, hadn’t there? Or was Dean just hypersensitive to anything Jay said, now?

“Well, great,” Dean said. “Are we going to be able to give him any progress on this whole thing?”

A clatter of pans brought Dean’s attention to Drew, who stood with his hands braced against the worktop and his shoulders tensed, his head bowed as though suddenly needing to pray. The pot he must have been holding sat askew on the stove-top. He’d definitely hit a nerve there.

“Unfortunately, our sister has yet to see fit to assist us,” Jay answered. “I will speak with her again once we have eaten. Without further information we may only be doing harm where we mean to do good.”

“I want to be there,” Dean said.

Jay’s response was immediate.

“There’s no need. Drew and I can handle Seraphine.”

“Still.” Dean made sure he was smiling. He also knew his eyes would have that look in them Sam had described more than once as about-to-go-over-the-edge steely. 

“It would perhaps be best if you stayed with Castiel,” Jay tried. “A familiar face can be beneficial, I understand, when dealing with memory loss.”

Dean had no idea if the guy was just pulling that one out of his ass. Either way, and even with Cas looking at him with something Dean had to categorise as hope, like he’d been desperate for Dean’s company all day and had been denied or some shit, there was no chance Jay and Drew were keeping this in-house. For all Dean knew, the woman would end up dead, taking any chance of further answers with her. Not that he’d have been at all upset to hear of her death even a few hours ago. Still wouldn’t exactly ruin his life. But there was more to this than he’d known, and it needed investigating by someone who had Cas’ best interests at heart. Which meant Dean. 

Whatever the Mark might be doing, it hadn’t yet made Dean try to kill Cas.

“Questioning people is part of my job,” Dean said. “I’ve got years of practice at telling when people are lying. I’ll be more use helping you.”

“I don’t like this,” Drew said, still standing with his back to them. 

“None of us like this, Drew,” Faith answered. Her hand was back on Cas’ again, touching lightly, like she was grounding him. “It’s horrible, but whatever reason Seraphine has for this we need to give her the chance to explain. The chance to make amends.”

Jay’s mouth twisted. He sure looked like he was disgusted by this whole thing. 

“Some crimes can’t be forgiven,” he said. He spoke as though he was pronouncing law. 

“And some can. Or, at least, they can be understood.” Faith looked from Jay to Drew, for all the not-brother was still looking the other way, her dark eyes large and earnest. “At least hear her out.”

“That is going to be difficult when she won’t talk,” Drew ground out, and he whipped around to face them, his eyes hard and angry. “She’s done something I don’t understand. Me. You know how long I’ve studied these arts, and I can’t find-” He cut himself off, his lip curling. “And you,” he said, nodding at Dean, “you think you can get her to talk? Because it worked so well before?”

“I’ve got no clue what you mean.” Dean it mild. 

“Our sister hasn’t told us much,” Jay said, shooting a look at Drew that had to be a warning, “but she has told us how you treated her. No, Drew.” 

Drew stopped with his mouth open, one hand a fist at his side. Whatever he’d been about to do, it didn’t seem to be happening now.

“We agreed, no action will be taken against Dean for this. The circumstances are extreme, and he was attempting to save Castiel.” 

Jay said that like he had the right to pass judgment, as well. Dean was beginning to see why Seraphine had made those pointed remarks about him not being king. He certainly seemed to think he was some sort of leader, giving orders to his family and deciding who would be punished and for what. 

Cas had been keeping quiet, watching the exchange with a thoughtful look on his face. 

“I would like to speak to Seraphine,” he said into the pause. 

Dean wasn’t the only one who turned to the angel with a denial ready, not from the look on Drew’s face. Faith curled her fingers round to hold Cas’ hand properly, bringing her other hand across to cradle his hand more fully. Her concern was clear.

“Do you really think that’s wise? She hurt you, and you don’t remember all that passed between you over the years. All you know of her is the hurt.”

“But she does remember,” Cas said. “From what you’ve said, this behaviour is…unexpected. She must feel some regret for that. Perhaps, if I speak to her now, after she’s had time to think it over, she might be moved to explain why.”

“Guilt? You think guilt’s going to get you anywhere?” Dean asked.

The thing was, he couldn’t really explain why he was so certain Seraphine would say nothing to her siblings, or to Drew, without revealing that he’d been to see her, or what she’d told him, and that might damage what trust he’d got from them. He still needed them to trust him. For now. 

“Guilt can be a powerful motivator,” Cas said quietly. His eyes dropped to the table as he said it.

There was an uncomfortable pause, Faith leaning in and peering at Cas as though she could tell what made him sound so sad when he spoke and Drew’s expression making it clear he blamed Dean for whatever had hurt Cas enough to say that. Drew could be ignored. At least, there was no sense worrying about the guy hating on Dean. That looked to be inevitable at this point. 

Leaning forwards, Dean managed to catch Cas’ gaze, and held it as he sat back, disregarding the other people in the room for the moment. 

“Guilt’s not the only thing drive’s people, Cas,” he said. “She’s spitting mad about something, and set on you dying. Back at the bunker, she said you’d die. Hell, back when you were in that basement, she said you had to die.” 

And maybe Dean was more pretending to ignore the others than was actually ignoring them. Did anyone look like they had a clue what Seraphine’s reason could be? Anyone got that look on their face that screamed they knew about the kid? If nothing shook loose soon, Dean would have to throw that information out there, see what it caught. 

“Point is, Cas,” he went on, “it isn’t safe for you to be around her.”

“It isn’t safe for me to be anywhere,” Cas said, and he really did seem to be shutting everyone else out, the way he was fixed on Dean enough reason, most likely, for Drew to hate Dean even more. “It isn’t just Seraphine saying what has been done to me will kill me. I’m not safe, Dean. You can’t make me safe.”

Buried in all that was the reminder of what Cas had said back in the garden: Dean couldn’t stand between Cas and danger. Didn’t fucking mean he shouldn’t try.

“Fine. Fine, you can try it. But I’m gonna be right there with you.”

There was no need for the look of annoyance on Jay’s face, or the anger on Drew’s. They had no right to tell Cas what to do.


	45. A Talk

Eating hadn’t been the most fun Dean had ever had. 

Drew had finished cooking, plating up some pasta dish that was, actually, pretty good, but the tension in the room was thick and acrid. It was enough to put anyone off their food. 

After, Dean left his empty plate in the pile next to the sink and followed Jay back to the front room. Faith had slipped away, stating quietly but firmly that she would fetch Seraphine, and Drew got in between Dean and Cas, leaning in and muttering something fiercely at the angel. From what Dean could hear, Cas wasn’t agreeing with whatever it was. 

Cas’ voice got more heated as Dean stopped just inside the room. He turned and saw Drew with a hand on Cas’ arm, holding him from going any further. Drew’s face was only a few inches from Cas’, creating a private and intense little discussion. Cas was looking slightly off to the side, shaking his head minutely as Drew spoke.

“We got a problem?” Dean asked, that swagger that had seen him through so many hunts coming in good, here. 

Cas pulled away from Drew, shaking his head one more time, more obviously, and joined Dean. 

“No. No problem,” he said. He’d sounded more convincing in his time, that was for sure.

Drew stalked past to stand by the fireplace, his step faltering slightly as he walked past Jay, who looked at him consideringly. 

Before Dean could ask what that had all been about, Jay brought everyone’s attention to him. Dean didn’t even know how he did it. He just…became more noticeable in the room.

“Dean, I am allowing you to be here in case your expertise is of use, but you need to remember that Seraphine is our family. We will take the lead in this. Castiel, I am not easy with you being here, so I ask that you tread carefully and heed any advice we offer. And Drew…Drew, you need to keep control of yourself. If she says something you don’t like the sound of, you leave before you do anything drastic. Do I have your understanding?”

Dean didn’t like it, but he could play along. Drew nodded. Cas…did not.

At Jay’s questioning look, and it was only questioning because of a slight angling of the head and shifting of a eyebrow, Castiel sighed. 

“You tell me I don’t remember much of my own existence, and your words are…convincing. But I can’t be sure that you’re telling me the truth. Dean,” and here he cast a look at Dean that was deep and apologetic and a million things Dean didn’t have time for right now, “has warned me that I trust too easily. I will listen to your advice, but I won’t promise to follow it. To…heed it.”

The angel paused for long enough that he seemed to have finished, but just as Jay opened his mouth again, Cas went on.

“Besides, if what you say is true, I used to give you the orders.”

And Jay’s mouth snapped shut. 

Seraphine strode into the room on the heels of Cas’ statement, Faith at her side and a defiant look on her face. Faith seemed thoughtful. 

“Castiel,” Seraphine greeted, before anyone else could say anything. She looked him up and down, a blatant show, and pulled a face. “You’re not looking too well. I doubt you have long.”

And Dean had to give her this: she didn’t sound regretful, or trapped, or in any way as though she cared for Cas. She sounded dismissive, vicious, even. It was almost enough to make Dean doubt his own memory of everything she had said up in that room. She stared at Cas, her chin up and her shoulders back, and she looked every inch like someone who wanted the angel dead. 

“Seraphine,” Jay snapped. It did nothing to pull that heated stare from Cas, but it did stop any further words from being fired. When it became clear that Seraphine had stopped talking, Jay turned to Drew, Dean tracking every movement, every facial expression he could. “Is she right?” Jay asked. “Does Castiel not have long?”

“I can’t tell,” Drew said, his frustration clear. “If it’s anything like the type of spell I think it is, Castiel should be able to feel it if he’s in danger. He should be-”

Dean had caught it, as well, that shift of Cas’ features, the way he’d adjusted his weight on his feet. It was subtle, just like most of Cas’ expressions, but it was like screaming to Dean. Looked like Drew had picked up on it, too.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Drew asked. He left the fireplace and was at Cas’ side in a moment, pushing Dean aside. Dean let himself be pushed. For now. “How bad is it? Why didn’t you say?”

Cas’ mouth tightened and his eyes skittered away from Drew, from Dean. 

“It’s not…” He stopped. Sighed. Started again. “There’s little point in worrying any of you. It won’t change anything.”

And Dean realised. He should have seen it already. He should have worked it out. 

“You don’t think we can save you,” he said. “You’ve given up. Haven’t you? Cas? Haven’t you?”

The angel wouldn’t look at him. Dean hated it, hated the way his friend wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was never a good sign, and right now it had fear thrumming through Dean in a sickening rush. 

“Cas, you tell me the truth for once. How bad is it? And look at me, damn it!”

Slowly, Cas looked up, bypassing Drew, who stood between them, and meeting Dean’s eyes. There was pain there. Dean had thought it was Cas’ usual emotional pain, pain he seemed to feel around Dean a lot. It was starting to occur to Dean that it could be a more physical pain. 

Whatever Cas saw in Dean’s eyes, it seemed to shake something lose in him. He sighed.

“I’ve been stabbed by angel blades,” he said, his words soft. Hushed. “More than once. This is like being stabbed repeatedly, over my whole body. Constantly. Dean… I think Seraphine is right. I don’t think it will be long.”

Dean shook his head and opened his mouth to respond, to tell Cas that he was a fucking dick for not sharing his pain, for not giving them all the information he could to help them all work to find a cure. Maybe Drew knowing about this pain would have helped. Maybe Dean could have offered some comfort. Anything. 

Before he could speak, though, Cas started up again.

“Dean, I am coming to believe Seraphine is right. This won’t end well and,” he paused, tilting his head, “and I don’t want you being dragged down with it. I want you free, Dean.”

“You are making no sense,” Dean said, because the awful, crawling feeling that Cas was making sense, and it just wasn’t a sense Dean could cope with hearing, wasn’t something he wanted to deal with. “Just shut up and tell us what else we need to know.”

Cas didn’t even bother frowning at Dean over that phrase. He just shook his head.

“No. If Seraphine won’t tell us a way to cure this, then I want you to leave. I won’t have you wasting more of your time on this.”

“Cas, for fuck’s sake.” Dean ran a hand through his hair, gritted his teeth. It must be his fault. He hadn’t been clear enough. “Would you stop with the self-sacrificing bull-crap? Helping you is not a waste of my time. It’s not a waste of anyone’s time.”

“Yes, it is.” This time it was Seraphine, and she didn’t wither under Dean’s glare like she should have. “I’ve told you, Castiel isn’t going to survive this. You’re just fighting the inevitable.”

“You’ve also told me I have to be the one to kill him,” Dean said, “and that ain’t gonna happen, so how do you figure those two together?”

“Oh, you’ll kill him,” Seraphine said. “You’re all so worried I’m going to do something to hurt him, but I don’t have to. The spell I’ve cast, it’s not one that can be undone. And it’s too late, anyway. You hold his bond, and you have to kill him. And you will. When you see how much pain he’s in, you will.”

She moved so swiftly that Dean didn’t register it at first. All he saw was Faith stumbling back, shock on her face. He heard Jay shout, heard Drew yell, and then, then, he saw Seraphine reach Cas. He saw her eyes glow as she clamped her hand to Cas’ forehead and shouted, a single word that cracked the edges of sound. 

He saw Cas’ eyes widen.

Jay and Faith between them wrestled their sister away from Cas, but it was too late. Dean could see it was too late. 

A single drop of blood ran from Cas’ nose. The angel reached up a hand and wiped it away, staring at the crimson on his finger as though he had no idea where it had come from. 

Then, his face contorted, and he screamed.


	46. Time to Cry

Drew got to Cas first, grabbing hold of him and pressing a hand to his forehead. It made Dean’s skin crawl, but the look on Drew’s face was intent, worried. In this moment, he didn’t give out vibes of trying to hurt Cas. 

Jay arrived at Cas’ side, taking hold of the angel’s shoulder and using his other hand to pry one of Cas’ hands away from his own hair, where it was clinging, gripping.

Dean watched, helpless, useless, as the Nephilim grappled Cas to the floor, lowering him and pressing him down, those screams cutting through everything. Light flared in Drew’s eyes, and the screams cut out, Cas sagging. They kept hold of him, let him settle on the floor slowly. 

As soon as they had him down, Jay and Drew exchanged a look, their faces grim, and Jay sighed. 

“You have to,” Drew said. “He’s…I don’t even need to focus to see it, Jay.”

“I know,” Jay said. “I know, all right? It doesn’t mean… I will never be used to this.” 

His last words were said on a breath, hushed and regretful. Before Dean could demand to know what they were talking about, Jay shifted so that he was kneeling closer to Cas, Drew drawing away. Now, it was Jay’s eyes which glowed. Cas’ eyes always glowed blue-white, Drew’s were gold, and Seraphine’s were that mix of red and blue. Jay’s eyes were exactly the same colour as Cas’. It was enough to shock him into staying quiet, even though he wanted to tell the guy to stop. There’d been enough of people using grace on Cas.

He felt a hand on his arm, and turned his head quickly. Faith. She shook her head when he glared at her, and he turned back to Cas. To Jay leaning over Cas, his face set and his eyes burning. 

“He has to,” Faith said, quietly, even though Dean hadn’t asked. “Cas hasn’t been telling us everything. He doesn’t trust us. Not really. Not like he should.”

Or maybe he still trusted them too much. Dean didn’t say it, but Seraphine’s words, no matter what she had just done, rang in his ears. One of them had killed Cas before. Someone had. 

The light around Jay grew, spreading out into tendrils of Grace that clung to Cas, threaded through him. Jay gasped, a soft sound of punched out pain, and folded over, like he’d been hit in the stomach. Drew’s face creased in what looked like hurt. Worry. 

“He can feel Castiel’s pain, now,” Faith said. She seemed to have taken it upon herself to offer a running commentary. “No.” Her hand tightened when Dean went to move forward, to go to Cas. “You can’t help him just now. Wait.”

Jay was sweating, now, with short, sharp breaths filling the room. Cas was silent. It felt to go on for a very long time, the light building and growing as Jay looked more and more as though he might pass out.

With one final burst of light, Jay yanked his hands away from Cas, folding them about his own stomach and leaning over until his head touched the floor. Faith left Dean and went to him, curling next to him and wrapping him in her arms.

“It’s done. It’s done, Jay,” she said. Dean could see the tell-tale glitter of tears in her eyes. 

At first, Dean though Jay was groaning in pain. It took a moment to work out it was a sob. And another. And another. Jay, the one who had seemed most like the impassive angel Dean had met years before, was sobbing onto the floorboards, his sister holding him and looking like she might join him. 

Cas was still and silent.

“What’s he done?” Dean demanded, when no-one explained, no-one even looked his way. “What the fuck has he done to Cas?”

This was all just too fucking much. First Seraphine… And where was she?

Looking around, Dean saw her stretched out on the floor, on her back, her whole body as still as Cas’. A poppy bruise stood out against her temple. 

She was out of the picture for now, then. 

He stepped closer to Cas, but Drew was on his feet and grabbing Dean’s arm before he could get close.

“No. You have to wait for him to wake up. We don’t know if this will work.”

“If what will work?”

Now it was Drew who wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes. His jaw was tense, a muscle jumping in it. 

“If what will work?” Dean asked again. 

It was Faith who answered.

“Jay didn’t want to do this, Dean,” she said. “You have to understand, such a thing is dangerous, to everyone concerned. With Castiel’s Grace as strained and dampened as it is, it could have destroyed him, but Seraphine… Whatever she did, the pain… It was too much. This way, at least he might trust us enough to tell us something useful, something that might help him. And it manages the pain. A little, at least.”

Drew held on, but he let Dean take a step closer, to peer down at Faith, with her hair wild about her head as she stroked a hand up and down her brother’s back.

“Manages it how?”

Faith sighed and a tear escaped, slipping down her cheek. She ignored it. 

“Jay can’t forge a link like the one you have with him.” Her mouth twisted. “Or the one Seraphine has, it seems. But he has linked his Grace with Castiel’s.”

“A Grace transfer?” Dean asked. “Is that even possible?”

“Yes,” Drew said. “But only in compatible Grace.”

“It lets Jay take some of the strain,” Faith added.

“And the pain,” Dean finished. “He’s feeling what Cas was feeling?”

“Some of it,” Faith said.

Only some… Fuck.

“And it has him like that?” Dean asked, knowing he sounded horrified. He was horrified. How much pain had Cas been in? It seemed like every time he thought he’d stopped failing Cas, he just found another way to do it. “What good does it do us if they’re both hurting? Will it be enough for Cas to feel okay?”

“Like she said, it only takes some of it,” Drew snapped. “We need to wait for Castiel to wake up before we see if it works, in any case. Seraphine tapped on the pressure points in his Grace. Think of it like twisting a broken bone, but over your whole body.”

Dean winced. 

“Still doesn’t answer my question. If this isn’t going to stop Cas from hurting, if it isn’t going to heal him, then is having Jay like this helping?” He felt like a dick for saying it. Of course it was better that Cas felt less pain. It was just… Jay was the one in charge, as far as it went, the one who seemed to have been keeping Drew and Seraphine from duking it out, and much thought Dean felt like punching the both of them he knew that it wasn’t the time. Not until Cas was better. 

“Such pain could have been enough to shatter the stress points in his Grace,” Drew said, the snap sliding out of his voice, replaced with worry. “Jay had to try something.”

Faith was watching them, even as she kept up the soothing circles on Jay’s back, her other arm wrapped around him as much as it could be with him curled over the way he was.

“We need to get them all to bed,” she said, almost like she was babysitting kids. “However this goes, lying on the floor isn’t helping.”

It was something Dean could help with, at least. It gave the illusion of action. He yanked his arm away from Drew, dropping to his knees next to Cas and taking a moment to wipe some of that sweaty hair back from the angel’s forehead. He looked sicker and sicker, every time Dean brought himself to really look.

“I’ll take Cas,” he said, and pulled his friend up over his shoulder before Drew could protest. 

He felt Faith’s eyes on him as he left the room, but he he didn’t hear her move from her place by Jay’s side. Jay’s sobs followed him up the stairs, and it was all too easy to imagine it was Cas crying.


	47. A Smile

Cas always looked smaller when he was stripped of his clothes and put to bed. 

It had been more awkward than it should have been, tugging the guy’s clothes off. It wasn’t like it was the first time Dean had helped him lately. Hell, Faith and her weird-ass spell meant Dean had seen plenty of the angel recently, and that seemed even stranger now he knew Cas was her dad. Mind you, she didn’t know, did she? He was going to have to think about how to deal with that. It just didn’t sit right not telling Cas he had actual family.

Mulling over that got Dean through removing Cas’ shirt and socks and trousers. He left the boxer shorts. 

Once he had Cas under the covers, just his head sticking out on the pillow, Dean sat on the edge of the bed and studied his friend. The dark circles were deeper. The lines at the sides of Cas’ eyes were more obvious. He was still Cas, though. Still beautiful.

Beautiful. Huh.

Dean turned that thought over and over in his mind. He couldn’t see any flaws in it. Cas was beautiful, and Dean could see that. 

A knock on the door pulled him away from the next step in that chain of logic.

“Who is it?” he called out. He couldn’t cope with Drew turning up to make moon eyes at Cas and shoot daggers at Dean.

“Just me.” Faith’s voice came floating through the door, followed immediately by the woman herself. She was in the room and had the door shut before Dean even thought to tell her it wasn’t a good time, her eyes latching onto Cas at once. “How is he?”

“Same,” Dean said. “Jay?”

“I got him to bed.” There was a lot in that short statement, but Dean didn’t have the energy to examine it. She settled on the bed on the other side to Dean, reaching out to stroke Cas’ hair the way Dean just had. Nearly the way Dean just had. “He looks strange like this.”

“In bed? Asleep?” 

Faith shook her head.

“You forget, I’ve known him my whole life. Sometimes, he would live with us for years. I’ve seen him in bed before, seen him sleeping.”

“Didn’t think angels slept,” Dean said. For some reason, Faith was speaking in a hushed tone, and Dean found himself copying her. 

“They can do,” Faith replied. “Castiel grew to enjoy it, I believe. He said it was peaceful.”

She sounded troubled by that. Probably thinking this sleep wasn’t a peaceful one, not if Cas could still feel any of his pain. Dean didn’t want to think about that.

“So in what way does he look strange to you?”

Faith tilted her head to the side, and it made something in Dean’s heart clench. She pursed her lips, apparently trying to work it out.

“I think,” she said, “that it’s the Grace.”

“You said you couldn’t see it,” Dean reminded her. He hoped to Hell he hadn’t caught Faith in a lie. He wasn’t sure he could cope with Faith being the one who needed watching. Even Seraphine hadn’t thought Faith could be the one.

“I can’t. But I must be able to sense something. Or maybe it’s just that he’s different. More closed in. I remember him laughing.”

“Laughing? Cas?” 

But Drew had said something similar. He’d said Cas was more open before. Whatever had been done to Cas, it sounded like the version Dean knew was a whole different beast to the angel who’d watched over Faith and her family for thousands of years. 

“Yes,” Faith said. “Laughing.” A smile touched her lips, the sort you don’t know you’re showing. “I remember, once, back in France, a time when we heard the King was holding a party. Drew was desperate to go. Some famous painter or other was meant to be there. I forget who. But Drew was… Well. He hadn’t decided he had a chance with Castiel yet, and he was open to other possibilities. The way he insisted we all attend… I thought Castiel was going to banish him to some other corner of the world, just for some peace and quiet.”

“But he didn’t?” 

“No. No, he didn’t. He got us all invited.” Her smile grew, soft and warm. “You should have seen the way Castiel spoke to the Cardinal. I’m amazed we didn’t have to leave before he could be executed. Which would have been a joke all by itself, I suppose, when the axe just bounced off him. He managed to stay just this side of being arrested, though. I saw him laughing then, all right. I swear, that’s why he got us invited, so he could snipe at the man and ride home laughing.”

She fell quiet for a while, but she was still smiling, faintly. One hand drifted up to her own cheek, touching it softly.

“I danced that night. It was beautiful.”

“Not a lot of dances, then?” Dean half-watched Faith, half-watched Cas. His mind tried putting Cas in the picture she was painting, but it insisted on adding the guy the way he was now, in Jimmy Novak’s body. For all Dean knew, the party Faith was talking about was one of the time Cas was wearing a woman. 

“No,” Faith said. “Not a lot of parties. At least, not as many as there could have been. Still, I suppose, over my lifetime, I have amassed more parties than most humans have had.”

“I’ve never been to a Prom,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure why. It just felt like he should share something similar. “Too much moving around.”

“Exactly.” She glanced up and met his eyes. “Far too much moving around. You get so even when you have somewhere to call home, you think of it as home-for-now. Not home-forever.”

She sighed, her eyes moving in a way that said she was searching Dean’s face. That smile had faded, but something of its light still sat in her eyes. 

“I’m tired. I know I am,” she said, at last, “but I don’t feel like sleeping. I don’t suppose you’d like to sit up and talk?”

“A slumber party?” Despite himself, Dean smirked. “Not too sure I’ll be any good at braiding your hair. A bit outside my skill-set.”

Faith chuckled.

“I was thinking more we’d steal Jay’s whiskey. Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She slipped from the bed and out of the room almost without sound, leaving Dean sitting on the edge of Cas’ bed, wondering what Cas would think about him sitting up drinking with Cas’ daughter. 

“How about I promise to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t drink too much?” he said, stroking a hand through Cas’ hair again. “I mean, thousands of years old… I hear they can be tricky at that age.” Cas’ hair was soft. “Whatever this Grace thing is doing Cas, I sure hope it’s helping. I want you wake up. I want to know what to say to you. God, Cas. I want to tell you to stop fucking thinking you don’t matter, in some way that means you’ll actually believe it. You know?”

He paused, but Cas stayed still. Stayed silent. Dean thought for a while, the time ticking past, Cas’ breathes too loud and shallow.

“Look,” he said, at last. “I don’t pretend to be good at this. And maybe that’s the problem. All those years I told you to step back, to not talk about shit, and called you for help. I can see why you’ve got it in your head that I just want you around when you’re useful, even if I’ve tried telling you it’s not that. You gotta start hearing me, though. You gotta wake up, and you gotta hear me. I don’t care about your powers. I care about you.”

His hand slipped down and cupped Cas’ cheek, his thumb caressing the edge of Cas’ lips.

“I just care about you, Cas.”

A noise had him snatching his hand back and jerking round. Faith stood in the doorway, a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers in her hands, her eyes soft.

“We’ll find a way to get him to wake up and listen, Dean,” she said. “We’ll get him to listen.”

And she brought him the whiskey, and they didn’t say any more about that all through the long, dark night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have two tumblrs. One is burningtea. The other is humanformdragon. The tea account is a fic and Destiel side-blog, but I am doing my usual thing and blogging that stuff on my main tumblr in any case, so it seems a bit daft not to say. If anyone wants to come and see me on tumblr, that's where I am.


	48. Next Day

Dean woke up with a dry mouth and a face full of hair.

He stayed still at first, the moment stretching out as he tried to work out where he was and what had happened. He was sleepy, comfortable. He had a pounding head and really needed to brush his teeth. Something was up tight against him. Something soft and warm and breathing. 

Right. Yeah. Hair and breathing. 

Cranking one eye open was harder than it should have been, but he managed it, eventually. What he could see of the hair was dark. Not exactly a surprise. He only got a glimpse before agony speared his brain and he had to clamp his eyes shut again. 

His brain was putting together the glaring clues more quickly as he came round, and he couldn’t help but think how nice Faith smelt. Like she’d been out walking in a rose garden on a warm summer’s day. She was tucked up against him, facing him, breathing against his neck. It was close, and intimate, and about as far from sexual as he could ever imagine being in bed with a more or less strange woman could be. 

“Shh,” she said, even that blurred. “Stop thinking so loudly.”

And that was that. He hadn’t even fought all the way out of sleep, and she sounded so insistent that he stop with the thoughts, so he just gave up and sank back under. 

 

***********************************************

 

The next time he woke up, Faith was gone. The headache wasn’t.

“What the fuck was in that stuff?” he muttered, holding his head as he rolled slowly upright, the room dipping and spinning about him.

“Whatever it is, it’s left you and Faith both looking green.”

Dean whipped his head round to look at the doorway, and everything lurched. Urgh. He pressed his eyes closed. Sight would have to wait. But that was Sam’s voice. And those were footsteps, coming closer.

“Here,” Sam said.

Dean felt his right hand pulled away from his head, the fingers pried open and then folded around something small and hard. Two somethings. Oh, thank fuck. Painkillers.

He swallowed them and chased them down with the water Sam handed him. He still couldn’t pry his eyes open without the light searing his brain, so he had to make do with listening to his brother’s breathing. It was loud enough to tear a hole in the space-time continuum. 

“Can you keep the noise down, Sammy?” he asked, barely managing more than a hoarse whisper.

He heard Sam chuckle. The bastard. The bed dipped as Sam settled next to him, and a moment later Dean felt soothing circles on his back. Any desire to tell Sam to drop that was kept down by the need to work on not throwing up all over the room. It’d be a shame to ruin the carpet. It was a good carpet. 

Sam at least spoke in a hushed tone. 

“Look, I can see it’s not all good here. I mean, Cas doesn’t exactly look great.” 

The way Sam’s voice wavered told Dean that the spell or whatever it was that Jay had tried hadn’t fixed things up overnight. He supposed Sam must be looking at Cas right then, on the other bed. He wondered if his brother felt that same clenching pain in his chest when he saw how tiny and fragile the angel looked under those covers. 

“But, well,” Sam went on, “Faith sounds like she really cares. She’s much warmer, you know? About you and Cas. And she managed to tell me her brother’s trying something to help. So that’s something. Right?”

Dean hoped his total silence would work as a response, because that was all Sam was getting. 

“Right,” Sam said, as though Dean had answered. “And the way she’s speaking, you haven’t told her, have you? About who Cas really is to her? That mean you haven’t told Cas, either? Because I know you weren’t sure about that, but I really think we need to get him better before we go dropping something like that on him.”

Again, Dean let silence be his answer. He had no idea why Sam had turned up so chatty. Did seeing Dean looking like shit unleash Sam’s need to talk? Or was it just that Dean wasn’t feeling up to telling his little brother to shut up?

“So, we’ll wait until he’s out of the woods, and then you can sit him down and tell him,” Sam said, as though they’d reached a decision together. “You up for some coffee? I think Drew’s making some. Faith suggested you get some down you.”

Coffee did sound good. And drinking coffee might give Sam something to do other than talk. And maybe, just maybe, Sam would go and get the coffee, and Dean could be left in peace for a few minutes. He just needed a few minutes.

He managed something partway between a grunt and a word, and Sam’s hand vanished from his back, the bed shifting again.

“Right. I’ll go fetch you a cup. You work on un-gluing your eyes or something.”

Dean listened to Sam’s footsteps disappear out of the room before he tried opening his eyes. The pain was still there. No. The world was going to have to be dark for a while longer. 

He did need to do something other than just sit here, though, and Sam hadn’t said anything specific enough about Cas. Dean needed to check on the guy. 

It took way too much effort to get off the bed, and he only just made it, flailing a bit when he got the distance wrong and banged his shin, but he ended up half-sprawled on Cas’ bed. Being part-way horizontal was better. 

Holding himself up on one elbow, he felt across the bedding until he hit Cas, and trailed his hand up until he reached the angel’s chest, then his face. He let his hand sit on Cas’ cheek for a moment, feeling the warmth there, the way Cas moved just slightly. Something in Dean unclenched, just a bit. 

Another wave of nausea made him grit his teeth and breathe through his nose, trying to steady himself. 

Screw this. He wasn’t ready to be up. And he was already on a bed. Hauling himself the foot or so further up the bed seemed like far too much effort, and it wasn’t like Cas would mind. Dude wasn’t even awake. Dean let his body tip down onto the bed properly, the hand on Cas’ cheek slipping slightly until his fingers brushed Cas’ neck. That was enough moving. He rested his head on the bedding, feeling the solid bulk of Cas’ body against his forehead, and gave up on consciousness again. 

 

*******************************************************

 

The third time was the charm. 

This time, the light didn’t sear through his head and he managed to force his eyes at least half-way open. Still couldn’t see anything. It took a few moments to work out that was because he was still pressed up against Cas’ side, his nose nuzzled under the curve of the angel’s chest. He must have shuffled around enough in his sleep to snag hold of the covers, because they were pulled down so that Dean had his cheek right up to Cas’ skin. 

“Don’t rush to get up,” Sam’s voice said from somewhere behind Dean. “Faith’s gone for a lie down, Jay’s still out cold, so is Cas, and Drew said he had something to work on.”

Dean’s whole back felt tight at the knowledge that Sam was behind him, that Sam could see him cuddled up to Cas like this. He didn’t even know how far he’d pulled the covers off. 

“And what are you up to?” he managed to ask at last.

“Some reading,” Sam said. He didn’t sound like he was going to make anything of this.

“I’m done sleeping,” Dean said, even though his eyes still felt gritty and about ten more hours felt necessary. “There any coffee left?”

He levered himself up as he asked, ending up staring down at Cas. The angel was still pale. Dean was starting to wonder if the guy would ever have any colour in him again. The sheet was most of the way down his stomach, bunched up high enough that the boxers weren’t showing. At least Cas hadn’t been left with no covers, even if he had gained a Dean hot-water bottle. Wasn’t like Cas would know about that, anyway.

“Dean, that coffee was hours ago,” Sam said, after a pause that said he’d noticed Dean checking on Cas and had given him a minute. “I can go down and see about making some more if you’re still feeling too rough to do it yourself.”

“Nah.” Dean turned to face his brother and tried a grin. He was pretty sure the pain wasn’t too obvious on his face. Any thought of complaining about it was washed away by the memory of Jay’s screams and the fact that was only part of Cas’ pain. He really hoped the angel couldn’t feel anything right now. “I’ll cope.”

Sam nodded, his gaze raking over Dean and his lips pursed as though he saw right through his brother but was going to let it go. He dropped his attention back to the book open on his lap.

“Bring me some up, then,” Sam said, and turned a page.

Dean made it to the door on the second attempt, his balance off enough that he almost walked into the dresser the first time. It took him the length of the room to realise that the light spilling in through the windows spoke of late afternoon. Cas had been out for most of a day. 

The thought followed him all the way down and into the kitchen, where he found the place empty, and shortly after that found everything he needed for fresh coffee. 

He almost fell asleep again as he waited for the coffee to be ready, his head resting on one hand as he stared out of the doors to the garden. It looked to be a nice day out. Perhaps he should spend a few minutes outside. See if that cleared his head. 

He was just trying to summon the energy to slide off the stool he was perched on and test out whether he could cope with the sunlight when he heard footsteps behind him. Before he could turn around, he was joined at the counter. 

Drew.

Dean didn’t bother saying anything. Whatever Drew might have thought of Dean if they’d met under other circumstances, he seemed determined to feel disgust and dislike right now. Instead, Dean slid his eyes back to the garden door and made a study of reflecting on the quality of the light. Cas would like it. 

“How is he?” 

Drew sounded as though the words had been dragged out of him, but he managed them. Dean had to give him that. 

“Fine.” The word was out before he even thought about it, a reflex action that was far easier to give in to than to fight. He sighed and ran a hand over his face. “No. That’s not right. He’s not fine. He’s out cold. Hasn’t moved. But you know more about this thing than I do, so how about you spill some of your secrets, instead of asking me for updates like I’m hiding him away from you?”

“Aren’t you?” Drew sounded less bitter, less angry than Dean might have expected. More saddened.

“No. No, I’m fucking not. I don’t know how many times I have to say this to you people, but Cas does not and will not ever belong to me. He’s not a pet.”

“He might not be your pet,” Drew said, and he at least sounded like that word was distasteful, “but he is yours. I didn’t want to see it. I really didn’t. But Faith is right. Seraphine is right. I haven’t seen him this dedicated to anyone since… Well. That’s done with. I have to learn to live with it.”

He could have sounded more convinced of that last bit, but Dean let it go for now. 

“Since we got here, all you’ve seen Cas do is sit around hurting,” Dean said. “How’d you get ‘dedicated’ from that?” 

A look at Drew was enough to show that comment had hit home. The guy glared down at his own hands on the counter, something almost murderous in his eyes, changing the gold to dark amber. His voice was tight when he spoke again.

“Faith tells me I need to accept that things have changed, but you don’t strike me as someone who just lets his loved ones go. Are you, Dean? If you’ve really managed to create this bond without even knowing…” Drew stopped and his lips curved into something that, from a distance, could have looked like a smile. “Well. You must hold on pretty tightly for there to be even a possibility…” 

“If you’ve got some point you’re aiming for, try and hit a bit closer.” Dean didn’t even care if the snap in his words was too much. His head was pounding more and more the longer he sat here.

“My point, Dean Winchester, is that Castiel has been ours for thousands of years, and you seem to have swayed him to your side in a fraction of the time. Do you have any idea how long he’s lived?” Drew finally turned his head to meet Dean’s gaze, and the gold was deep and burnished. “Even Jay’s only been around for a heartbeat to Castiel. How do you even register? It…it’s unusual, to say the least. You have to understand why it’s hard to believe he’s with you of his own free will, when we see the evidence of the binding, and we see how he’s changed, and then you insist you don’t know what we’re talking about… And he won’t say a word against you. Did you know? If he even thinks I’m about to say something critical of you, he corrects me. He used to defend us. To defend me. Tell me you get that it’s hard.”

“I…” Dean opened his mouth, tried to speak, and shut it again. Sincerity dripped off Drew. Dean really needed that coffee. “Whatever, Man. Cas and me? We’re friends. Hell, we’re family.” And what kind of family exactly was still up in the air. “You think that’s some odd, brainwashing level of weird, then I don’t know what to tell you.”

A warm thrum of affection ran through Dean at the thought of Cas standing up for him, though. So much of the time, he wasn’t even sure that Cas noticed what was going on in Dean’s life, let alone which bits of it might need defending. 

“I know what family is,” Drew said. “I know what it always was to Castiel. He was our guide and our protector, even when it risked setting him against Heaven. I get the feeling he would turn on us all to protect you, now.”

For a moment, Dean thought of his own father. Would John Winchester have turned on Dean and Sam to protect, say, Adam? Hard to say. He’d certainly not raised the kid to be a Hunter. 

“Things change. People move on. Besides, you all seem pretty convinced that Cas doesn’t remember you. Whole other ball-game if he did.”

Drew stared at Dean for a moment longer before shaking his head, his gaze dropping away.

“Angels are loyalty. To a leader, to a cause, to a belief. Once you’ve made one switch allegiance… I would like very much to believe that Castiel will remember me and that he will be him again, but…” The sign Drew heaved was almost enough to make Dean feel bad for the guy. “But I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Even if we get him back, I’ll never actually get him back.”

Again, it was hard to say whether Drew was totally sure of that, but he seemed to believe it. 

“Do you care enough to try and save him, even if he’s not…your angel anymore?” Dean stumbled on the question, the way Drew and the others talked about Cas too much like discussing a possession. 

The Nephilim spoke to the counter-top, where his folder hands rested on top of one another.

“I already told you, I love him. I will do whatever I must to save him, even if I’m not saving him for me. If you wouldn’t do the same, then perhaps you should find a way to let him go. Even if we both lose him.”

To be fair to Drew, he didn’t rage or snap at Dean for implying he could be doing more to help Cas, but Dean felt like he’d been kicked anyway. Would he do whatever it took to help Cas? Even if, say, it meant harming Sam? He couldn’t honestly say he would. Cas, though… Cas had already shown he’d do pretty much any damn thing, no matter how damaging to himself, or to others, to save Dean. 

And maybe the fault there was with Cas. Maybe he was the one who needed to change. 

Maybe Dean did need to find a way to cut Cas loose.

“Look, just…just find a way to help him. Heal him,” Dean said. “We’ll sort out the rest later.”

If Cas ever remembered them, he would have to make a choice. Dean would have to accept it. If Dean ever found out that Faith was his kid, he’d not want to leave her, that was for certain. It was pretty shitty when he was almost wishing for his friend to not remember his own kids. 

“Have you fallen in the coffee pot and drowned?” Sam asked from the doorway. 

He sounded amused, but when Dean twisted to look at his brother, there was a sharpness on Sam’s expression that said he’d heard at least some of that. Damn hangover from…well. Not from Hell. From wherever Nephilim lived. It had blotted out half of Dean’s hearing, letting his giant of a brother sneak up on him. Sam was watching Drew, or more accurately the back of Drew’s head, as though an attack might happen at any time. 

“Coffee’s ready. Pour yourself a cup.” 

Sam crossed to the pot, keeping an eye on Drew as he went, and a few minutes later Dean had a cup in his hands, the ‘pour me one, too’ having gone unspoken. Drew waved away the implied offer when Sam lifted the pot at him.

“No. I should go and check on Jay. And on Castiel. The procedure Jay tried yesterday isn’t one I’d recommend without power. A lot of power.”

“And Cas’ Grace is tied up,” Dean said, worrying flaring.

“Yes.” The tightness in Drew’s voice was far from reassuring. “I’ll check on Jay first.”

Sam shot a look at Dean as Drew left, and Dean shrugged. It had sounded like Drew was reassuring Dean that Cas wasn’t his first port of call. Now, Dean didn’t want Drew near the angel, but for the guy to be acting like Dean was some possessive boyfriend was just insulting. Faith understood. Dean was sure she did. She’d more or less said as much last night. He thought.

Whatever kind of whiskey Jay got, it was potent stuff. Dean could remember sitting and talking with Faith, but the details were hazy. 

“Coffee helping?” Sam asked.

“Um. Yeah. Much better.” Dean hadn’t drunk any yet. “How was Cas when you left the room?”

“Same as he’s been for the last several hours.” Sam took the seat Drew had vacated, pushing his hair back from his face and fixing Dean with one of those looks that said this conversation was happening. “Do you think this move of Jay’s will have helped? How bad was Cas?”

“Really bad, Sammy.” Dean drained the cup in one go, giving him chance to break off for a few seconds. Sam was still staring at him when he lowered the cup. “I had no idea he was in that much pain, and he damn well asked me to end it for him.” Dean’s voice wavered and risked breaking on that last line. “If I have to hear him scream like that again…”

Sam reached over and grabbed Dean’s forearm, holding on tight.

“You won’t kill him, Dean. You won’t give up on him like that.”

He didn’t reply. Sam hadn’t been there, hadn’t heard it. 

“You won’t,” Sam said again, tugging at Dean’s arm as though that would force his words to go in. “You or Jay or Drew will find something. And I’m here now. You say this place has been theirs for years? Then they must have books, papers. Things we can use for research that we don’t have in the Bunker. We’ll work it out.”

Sam fell silent and looked over Dean’s shoulder just as Dean heard footsteps. 

“Faith,” Sam said.

“Is that coffee I smell?” she asked, settling herself carefully on the other side of Dean and propping her chin in one palm.

It only took a few moments for Sam to fetch fresh coffee for them all, and Dean found that in that short space of time he’d leaned over so that he was closer to Faith. He watched as she curled her hands around the cup, sighing with what sounded like relief.

“You’re not much better at taking that whiskey, then?” Dean asked.

“Trust me,” she said, voice quieter than normal. “I would not be risking taking Jay’s whiskey normally, and it’s not because I’m scared of my brother. It’s because I don’t want my whole mind to blank out. 

Dean nodded. No need to explain why last night was an exception. 

He opened his mouth to say something else, and was cut off by the sound of running. Drew hit the door-frame and clung on, half hanging into the room, his eyes blazing old gold. 

“He’s gone,” he snarled. “She’s taken him. She must have.”

Dean’s heart pulsed, hot and painful in his chest.

“Cas is gone? Seraphine’s taken Cas?” Again. Taken him again, and these so-called family members had let it happen. Dean had let it happen. 

Drew’s lip drew back as he spat the next words at Dean, anger disfiguring his face.

“Seraphine hasn’t taken Castiel. She’s taken Jay.”


	49. Waking

Only Faith’s hand on his arm stopped Dean from smashing into Drew, from grabbing him and shaking him until the answers made sense. 

“She’s what?” he asked, the tension in his arm a taut line from Faith’s hand up through his shoulder. Again, he was reminded the woman was stronger than she seemed. “How? Didn’t you have her bolted down? Are you fucking stupid?”

“Dean,” Faith said, the warning clear. 

He ignored her.

“You know what she did to Cas! You saw her leave him screaming. And you… How did this happen? How could you let this happen? What happens if she kills Jay? What happens to Cas if she kills Jay?”

“Dean!” Faith snapped. “Fucking shut up.” 

That pulled him up short. Even after only knowing her for a short while, that, from Faith, was jarring. It was probably meant to be. It was jarring enough to take in the expression on Drew’s face. Devastation. Whatever Seraphine had told Dean about the relationships here, Jay and Drew had called each other brother for longer than most civilisations had been around. And now Jay was gone, already hurt from an attempt to save Cas, and in the hand of the woman who had already turned on their own. Still, Dean didn’t apologise. He didn’t have it in him.

Drew’s hand clenched on the door-frame and he seemed to be having trouble getting his thoughts in order. 

“I don’t… I mean, I didn’t… It’s not…” He stopped, pulled in on himself, closing his eyes for a long moment, and straightened. If not for that death-grip on the door-frame, he would almost look collected. He spoke in a gritted, clipped way, each word fired at a regular interval with little intonation. “She was restrained. This should not have been possible.”

“Clearly,” Dean said. “You just had her all wrapped up tight.”

“We need to think calmly,” Faith said, almost over him. “Panicking, arguing, these aren’t going to help Jay. They aren’t going to help Castiel, either. They’re both in danger now. Aren’t they, Drew?”

Drew looked away. He looked like he was going to be sick.

“Yes.”

“What was that?” Dean asked. He knew he was being an asshole and he didn’t care. He’d listened to Seraphine, but he hadn’t felt safe, not even when she was shut up. Now that she was loose again, his nerves were jangling at him. He had to protect Cas. “Speak up, Boy Wonder.”

“I am not-” 

Drew caught himself more quickly this time, but something of his burst of rage struck Dean, reminding him of…someone. If he could just get over his fear for Cas enough to work out who. 

“You heard him well enough, Dean,” Faith said, letting go of his arm after one last press of her fingers and moving to stand in front of Drew. “We need to track them. You must have something.”

Over Faith’s head, Dean saw Drew pull a disgusted face.

“I can try, but I already pulled on my Grace to get a reading. She’s cleaned the place out. You know she has more power there than I do.”

“Well, she certainly has more Grace than I do,” Faith said. “You all do. But you also have hundreds of years of magical lore to call on. Do you need to check on Castiel, still?”

That question brought Drew’s attention properly to Faith.

“Yes. Yes, I do. I checked he’s still there, already, but I should make sure of the spell-work, and…” He trailed off, a thoughtful frown pulling at his brow. “I wonder…”

Without finishing the sentence, he let go on the door-frame and vanished, his footsteps sounding on the stairs a few moments later. Dean made to follow, but Faith span around and got in his way. He felt Sam arrive just behind him as he stared down at the Nephilim. God, she looked like Cas. Well, she looked nothing like him, really. Not if he tried to work out each feature, or her colouring. But still… It was impossible, now, to see her as anything but like Cas.

“What?” he asked, gruff and abrupt. 

“I can’t have the two of you at each other’s throats,” she said. “If you want to come up and check on Castiel, you do it without antagonising Drew. Are we clear?” She barely waited for Dean to nod before glancing behind him. “You need to keep your brother under control, Sam. This spell was hard enough, taxing enough, with them in the same house and not moving. We have no idea what is happening to Jay. It is crucial that nothing causes more of a strain on Castiel. Do you understand?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I get it, and… Yeah.” Sam answered her quickly enough, but he sounded wary. He probably didn’t want to commit to dragging Dean out of the room. Like he could.

“I’ll play nice,” Dean said. 

From the way she looked at him, his smile wasn’t fooling her. Fair enough. He liked to think they’d bonded over that whiskey, even if he couldn’t really remember it, so she ought to know him well enough to see he was barely holding back a snarl behind his lips. 

Upstairs, Sam insisted on going in to the room first, shooting a look at Dean that warned him to hang back. Dean gritted his teeth and let Sam think he was protecting him. 

When he finally got to stand next to Cas’ bed, the angel looked the same as he had done when Dean had woken up pressed right up to him. 

“Is it good he hasn’t moved?” Sam asked. 

From his place sitting on the edge of Cas’ bed, Drew shrugged.

“Better than him waking up screaming,” he said. He paused for just long enough that Dean knew the guy had conjured up images he didn’t want. They exploded in Dean’s head, too, damn it. “It’s…troubling that he’s not awake at all, though. To be fair, I haven’t seen this done in a long time, and never for something so…twisted.”

“Twisted?” Sam asked. He was using the voice he used on a case, when he was playing the interested and sympathetic Fed who just wanted to understand. 

“Yes,” Drew said. “She almost fractured him. At some point, she’s managed to form her own bond, and just before we tried this Grace-sharing, she pulled on it, set it against Dean’s bond. Castiel is being pulled in two directions. To be honest, I’m amazed this is working at all.”

“But it is working?” Sam asked.

“Yes. Barely. Jay’s Grace, it’s…folding round Castiel’s, reinforcing it. For now. But it’s putting pressure on Jay’s Grace, too. And Jay isn’t as strong as Castiel used to be. If his Grace was full and free, I mean. Imagine you trying to hold someone’s body together, someone stronger and larger than you, just by wrapping yourself around them. And they’re writhing and screaming and trying to move in at least two directions at once. How easy would that be?”

“What happens if Seraphine makes Jay let go?” There was a thread of worry in Sam’s voice now. “Could that be why she’s taken him? To work on that without you being able to stop her?”

“We can’t know,” Faith broke in, inserting herself between Sam and the bed and sinking down by Cas’ legs. She rested on hand on the angel’s calf, looking far too worried for Dean’s liking. “We are far out-side of charted territory, here. I would never have thought Seraphine would hurt either one of them.”

“Well, she has.” Drew beat Dean saying it. “And I’m telling you now, Faith, as soon as this is done, as soon as this has run it’s course, the first spell I cast will be to sever her.”

Dean had to move around the bed to get a clear view of Cas again, now that the other three were all in the way. He took a seat on the opposite bed, distancing himself to make sure he was too far away to push Drew back if the urge struck. Curling himself round Cas, folding himself round Cas, would do no good at all, but he still felt like doing it.

“Run it’s course?” he asked. “This is something we just have to wait out, now?” 

That sounded almost promising. 

“I don’t see anything else we can do but wait,” Drew answered. He didn’t sound relieved, though. It was too much the way people in drama’s talked about waiting to see if someone pulled through a fever, as though death could sweep in at any moment.

“But you said he couldn’t die, right? That I was keeping him here?”

“The bond keeps him alive. It doesn’t necessarily keep him whole,” Faith said. “Not when his Grace is attacked like this. If it fragments, he will still be alive. Technically.”

Drew winced. 

Sam had been quiet for a while. Now, he ran his hand through his hair and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Cas.

“This bond…it’s connecting Seraphine and Cas, right?” Faith nodded. “And the…Grace thing? That’s connecting Jay and Cas? So shouldn’t there be some way to put a trace on those? Find out where the other end of each line is?”

“He’s an angel, Sam, not a phone line,” Dean said. 

“It…” Drew trailed off, the frown that had sat on his face this whole time growing slowly deeper. “That makes sense. That… I can’t believe I… I’ll need some things.”

“Drew!” Faith called after him, but Drew was on his feet and out of the door before she got his name out. Turning to Sam, she waved a finger up at him. “Don’t either of you do anything stupid whilst I’m out of the room. Understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sam said, his yes crossing a little as Faith stood, her finger still raised and getting closer to Sam’s face. “Whatever you say.”

Once Sam and Dean, and Cas, were alone in the room, Sam slumped down onto the bed and Dean joined him, sitting on the other side of Cas and picking up one of his friend’s hands. It was fever hot.

“She’s intense,” Sam said, still looking after Faith.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “You think Drew will be able to track them?”

“I don’t know, but he seemed to have shut down until I suggested it. It’s a start, right?”

“Yeah.” There’d been too many starts and ideas and not enough actual progress. If they found Jay and Seraphine, they wouldn’t be any further on. 

The fingers in Dean’s hand shifted, curling and uncurling, and Dean gripped them, searching Cas’ face. Was that a glimmer of blue under the lashes?

“Sammy, I think he’s waking up.”

Sam leaned over Cas, taking the angel’s other hand as he did so. Dean felt the fingers in his move again, this time gripping and squeezing. He squeezed back. 

“Hey, Cas. Come on. Wake up.”

Sam joined him. “Yeah, Cas. Come on back to us.”

Cas woke slowly, his eyes barely making it open before shutting again. Finally, his eyes opened and focused, taking in Sam with no noticeable change and wandering until they latched onto Dean. 

“Dean?” 

The name was quiet. Weak. But it was speech, not screaming. 

“I’m here, Cas,” he said, squeezing Cas’ hand again in case the angel wasn’t able to see properly or something. You never knew when someone woke up after being knocked out. “You had us scared, Buddy. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m burning,” Cas rasped. “Like I’m being pulled apart. What happened?”

He made no attempt to sit up. That as much as anything told Dean that Cas was still really hurt. 

“Seraphine pulled some mojo on you. Nearly fractured your Grace. Jay shared his with you to hold you together,” Dean said. 

He had more lined up, about Jay and the disappearance, but Cas’ sharp inhale and widened eyes stopped him. 

“What? Did the pain get worse?”

Cas ignored that, his eyes narrowing again as he scanned Dean’s face, almost as though expecting to catch Dean in some lie.

“Did you say Seraphine? And Jay?”

“Yeah. We’ve been staying with them. You remember, right?”

With the way Cas’ mind kept getting messed about with, it should have occurred to Dean right away to check what Cas knew. It was starting to seem like a miracle when he remembered anything from one day to the next.

Cas stared back at him, no indication on his face that he’d registered what Dean had said. He looked to be processing something.

“You do remember, Cas?” Dean asked again. 

“I remember,” Cas said, but he sounded distant as well as weak.

Dean felt Sam shift on the bed before he realised that Drew and Faith were back in the room, the sound of their arrival unimportant next to watching Cas. Something was off. Cas wasn’t reacting like he really knew what was going on.

“He’s awake?” Drew asked, from behind Sam. He appeared next to Cas, crouching down and reaching for Cas’ forehead as the angle turned to look at him. “You’re awake?”

Cas didn’t answer the question.

“Drew?” he asked, instead. He sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He sounded pained and hopeful and shocked. 

“Yes. It’s me,” Drew said, biting his lip as he touched his hand to Cas’ head, clearly more focused on checking something about the spell or Cas’ health than he was in listening to the angel himself. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been split open and set on fire,” Cas said. “But that doesn’t matter. Drew.” And Cas pulled his hand out of Sam’s and pulled Drew’s hand away from his face, holding it tightly. “Drew, stop. You aren’t going to find an answer.”

“You don’t know that,” Drew said, looking down at Cas, but with a tension about him that said he’d only paused for a moment. “And we’re going to use the bond Seraphine put on you, and Jay’s Grace, to track down where they are.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t they with the rest of you?” Cas asked. “Why would you split up? I told you to stay together. I always told you to stay together.”

Cas sounded agitated, his hand flexing in Dean’s grip.

“Hey, Cas, calm down,” Dean said. “Just stay calm and rest. Let Drew do his job.”

But Faith interrupted before Drew could do anything else.

“No. Wait,” she said. “Sam, do you mind?” 

At her nod, Sam backed away from the bed and Faith took his place, peering along at Cas from where she now perched. His eyes met hers and they both stilled, something passing between them that Dean couldn’t follow. A slow, shy smile crept across Faith’s face. It was out of place in all of this pain and panic, but it was there. 

“You remember,” she said. “Don’t you?”

Whatever she saw in Cas’ face was enough, because she flung herself forward, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face against his neck. Dean and Drew moved back at the sudden movement, each dropping Cas’ hands, and he folded his arms around Faith, his fingers digging in he held her so tight.

“What the fuck?” Dean asked. “What did I miss?”

He looked at Sam, who looked grim, and at Drew, who looked torn between hope and fear. It was Sam who answered.

“Unless I’m really off base, I’d say something’s jolted Cas’ memories. He remembers Faith and the others properly.”

Cas remembered? The conversation with Drew from only half an hour or so ago floated back into Dean’s mind. He met Drew’s gaze and saw the same realisation there. It was time to see whether Drew would get his Cas back or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be heading into the last stretch at last. It feels like it's about to speed up in terms of action, but we'll see. Let me know if there is any line or event you like. Can't tell you how much it helps to hear from people. :)


	50. Trace

A grunt from Cas had Faith sitting up, unwinding her arms from the angel and patting at his shoulders.

“Did I hurt you?” she asked.

Cas huffed and grimaced.

“No. The forces binding and ripping apart my Grace are hurting me. But you are a lot bigger than you were as a child.”

“I’ll try to remember not to crush you again, then,” Faith said. “Now, what exactly do you remember?”

“Everything,” Cas said. He looked away from Faith, his gaze flicking over to Sam, then Dean, and back to Faith. “Well. More than I did, anyway. It’s hard to be certain about a lack of memory loss. But I know who you are, and your siblings. I remember shielding you.”

Faith nodded, a smile warming her face even though she was still focused on the situation at hand. 

“That’s good. It’s good you remembered. And do you still remember what happened since you left us?”

“I…” Cas frowned. A flash of some emotion crossed his face, but it was too fast and too subtle for Dean to be sure what it was. “I remember Sam. And Dean. And what we’ve faced together.”

Dean had far more experience with picking up on Cas’ lies than he’d ever wanted, and there was more lurking behind those words, but he wasn’t about to push right now, in front of Cas’ lost-and-found family. It could be something he didn’t want them to know, but he’d tell Dean. Later. When they were alone. 

“That’s great, Cas,” Sam said. “At least we don’t have to jog your memory about us again.”

“No,” Cas said, and his smile was the small, awkward one he used when he wasn’t sure he was getting the joke but he was trying to join in anyway. “That must be a relief. Where would you find a crowd of demons for me to smite?”

“It’s not like that’s usually a problem,” Dean said, and winced at how loud and harsh the words sounded. “I mean, I’m glad your memory’s back. Must be nice.”

“It’s…strange,” Cas said. He wasn’t looking at anyone now. He still hadn’t looked at Drew. “My memories may be faulty, but what I remember of Seraphine from before doesn’t fit with what I remember of her recently. Have I missed something?”

“We’ve all missed something, from the looks of it,” Faith said. “I have no idea why she’s doing this. We just have to find a way to fix it.”

“Cas,” Dean said, ignoring the others even when they all turned to face him, “can we have a word? In private?”

“Of course,” Cas said.

At the same time, Drew spoke up. 

“Now is hardly the time-”

“The time for what?” Dean demanded. 

Drew’s stance was defensive, his arms crossed in front of himself and his shoulders hunched. It wasn’t what Dean would have expected from someone who’d just been remembered by the love of his life. Unless Drew thought that Dean wanted Cas on his own so he could make sure Drew didn’t have a chance, and that really would be petty right now. 

Before he had to say that, Faith had risen to her feet and crossed to Drew, taking his arm and looking up at him with understanding on her face. 

“Do you have everything you need for the tacking spell?” she asked. When Drew shook his head, not looking like he was fully focused on her words, she tugged on his arm, pulling him back to the door. “Well, we should get the rest of it and get set up, shouldn’t we? You can talk with Castiel after. We have priorities here, Drew.”

To be fair to Drew, he let himself be pulled away, even if he didn’t look happy about it.

Sam looked from Cas to Dean a couple of times and gave Dean a meaningful look. What exactly it was meant to mean, Dean had no idea, but he nodded back anyway. It did the trick, because Sam left the room muttering about bringing up more coffee, and Dean was left staring at Cas. Cas stared right back.

“So, er, you remember Sam and me, then,” Dean said. 

“Yes, Dean,” Cas said. 

The tiny wince after Cas shut his mouth made Dean feel even more stupid for saying something so ridiculous. Cas was still hurting, and here Dean was making him confirm obvious things that he’d already said. 

“Yeah. Okay. So, what exactly do you remember about Faith?” 

From the look on Cas’ face, he hadn’t expected that. Quite what he had thought Dean wanted to talk about, Dean had no idea. This felt like the first thread that needed pulling, though, and if Drew and the others came back too soon, Dean would make sure he had the rest of this talk with Cas as soon as he could do. There were a lot of things he needed to say to Cas, and he wasn’t quite sure why it felt so urgent that he say them now, but it was an itch that was just needing scratching. As soon as Cas had opened his eyes, Dean had wanted to talk to him. It was probably all the time he’d spent watching Cas lie around in pain lately, and the fact Cas hadn’t been able to hear him when he’d spoken to him before. It felt like unfinished business.

“Cas? Come on. Just tell me about Faith.”

“Why?” Cas asked. He’d gripped the bedding, rucking it up. Maybe it was to deal with the pain. Maybe.

“Look, she’s a great woman. Really. And she loves you. That’s clear. Like a father.” And there it was. A twitch made it clear. Dean leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and kept hold of Cas’ gaze. The angel had never been able to lie well directly to Dean’s face. Not that he could see why this was something to lie about, but still. “And that’s because she is your daughter, right? And she doesn’t know. You mind filling me in on the logic there.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” A lie.

“Yes, you do. And I don’t get it, Cas. Most guys, if they run out on being someone’s parent, they actually leave. They don’t pretend to be nothing to do with a kid but raise it anyway. It makes no sense.” Cas stayed quiet and Dean pushed on. “Fine. Whatever. It’s not like it’s any of my business. It’s just that Faith’s a great person and I don’t follow the thinking on this one. I don’t get why they don’t know who they’re really related to. And what’s the deal with Drew? Who’s he belong to? Unless Seraphine had it wrong and he’s yours, too. In which case, Cas, I gotta tell you, that is some mixed up shit. It’s weird enough dating someone you helped bring up, but your own kid-”

“What are you talking about?” Cas asked, and he sounded shaken. “I don’t… You aren’t making any sense.”

“Oh, I think I am. It’s this situation that isn’t making any sense. Look, if I have it all wrong, then tell me, but Seraphine told me she’s your kid, and so are Jay and Faith. Hell, she said you’re Faith’s Mom, which is all kinds of weird in my book, but whatever. Angel thing. Out of my area of expertise. And she said that Drew is someone you took in to keep safe from Heaven. Drew told me about what the two of you had going on. Think he’s been hoping you can pick right back up again when your memories come back.” He had to stop and take a breath there. “Thing is, Cas, Seraphine also told me that one of them is out to get you, so we need to put our heads together and figure out which one.”

“Which… What? One of who?” Cas moved, hissing in pain as he forced himself upright until he was sitting on the edge of the bed looking back at Dean, one hand still buried in the bedding and the other pressed against his stomach, like he was holding his own guts in. He sounded shaky, weaker than normal, but determined. “You need to start again. Start with what exactly Seraphine says she knows.”

Dean did. Cas didn’t speak the whole time Dean went over it, and over what Drew had said. Cas’ lips were pressed tight together most of the time, parting now and then but closing quickly and not interrupting. When he was done, Dean shrugged.

“How much of that is true?” he asked.

Cas sighed, finally pulling his attention away from Dean and closing his eyes. 

“All of it,” he whispered. “Everything Seraphine said about how we are related. I don’t know how she knows, but… I would like to say I don’t understand how Naomi could make me forget them, but she was very skilled.” 

There it was again, that sense that Cas was keeping something back. Dean almost asked, but they didn’t have time to go into what exactly Naomi had done to Cas right now. It would have to wait until they’d sorted this latest problem out.

“Do you think she’s right? Did Drew or Jay get you killed? Past you, I mean. Or did you fake your death? What happened there?”

“I don’t believe either one of them would hurt me.”

“Yeah, but you said that about Seraphine, too, and I saw what she did to you. Sorry, Cas, but your blood family looks to be just as screwed up as your angel family.”

“Some of my angel family are my blood family,” Cas muttered. “Well, not blood. But as you understand it.”

“What?”

“Angels have families, just like humans do. Naomi simply made us forget that.”

Dean felt his face scrunch in confusion. “But Jay and Faith, they said that whole angels are siblings thing was just some fantasy Naomi dreamt up, to keep you all in line.”

“It was,” Cas said. “And it wasn’t. Some angels really are related, just as you and Sam are related. Not that it matters, now. I am fairly sure all of my angelic family are gone.”

And Dean wasn’t touching the level of sadness and regret in that statement, not right now. It would have to go on the list for later, for when they had time to sit down and hash things out. Because he was going to make sure that happened, after all these years of letting things slide. 

“Okay. Well, that sucks. But the point about Seraphine stands, so how can you be sure about the others?”

“I can’t,” Cas said. “But just so you know, Drew and I…there is no blood relationship there. Angels do not have the same moral codes as modern humans, not in everything, but that would not-”

“Okay, Cas. Sorry.” Dean didn’t mean to cut Cas off, but he’d obviously upset his friend by suggesting that. “But what exactly-”

It was Dean’s turn to get cut off as Faith reappeared, carrying a brass bowl, with a towel draped over her arm.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s all the time we have for chatting just now. You can pick this up later. We need to find Jay. Castiel, what are you doing sitting up? Lie back down.”

“No.” Cas was firm, if still quiet. “I’ve spent enough time in bed lately.”

All that did was remind Dean of waking up in the same bed, just hours ago. He felt his skin heat as he looked away and coughed. He didn’t need distracting just now.

Faith huffed, drawing Dean’s attention back to her.

“If you kill yourself being stubborn before we can find a way to heal you, I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”

She set the bowl on the bedside table and sat next to Cas on the bed, peering at his face even though he didn’t look at her. 

“Drew will be right up and then we need to try to trace Jay. And Seraphine. How are you doing?”

“Surviving.” Cas met her eyes then, and his expression softened. “How are you?”

“The same,” she said, in a tone that had to be more will-power than genuinely being positive. “I’ll be a lot better once we have everyone back and safe. Which we will. We haven’t made it this far by giving up. Right?”

“Right,” Cas said. 

Dean could hear the pride and affection, even with everything else layered up in that word. Not hearing that must have been killing Faith. 

True to Faith’s word, Drew arrived moments later, bringing a small wooden box and a book with him. He added it to the pile of things he’d left the last time on the dresser by the door and frowned at Cas.

“You should be lying down. You aren’t strong enough to be up.”

Dean saw a flash of irritation on Cas’ face before he spoke. “No. I’ve had enough of lying around. Whatever you’re going to do, do I have to be flat on my back?”

And wasn’t that a great choice of words. It looked to fluster Drew, too, and he opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking again, sounding subdued. 

“No. No, you don’t.”

Sam turned up with a tray of mugs and the scent of coffee as Drew was drawing sigils on Cas’ chest and arms in some thick, red paste he’d produced from the box. Faith was in the process of fixing candles and incense around the room, in some pattern she wasn’t explaining, and Drew was muttering at her every now and again about alignment, but she didn’t seem to be listening. She did adjust a couple of candles, though, so maybe it was just the way they were with each other. 

The red paste made it look far too much like Cas was covered in blood again.

Speaking of Cas, the guy hadn’t looked directly at Drew once, not even when the Nephilim knelt on the floor at the angel’s feet and applied the first mark. Dean had felt a pulse of rage, echoed by the flaming heat of the Mark on his arm, but Cas had just looked up at some point on the wall and acted as though nothing was happening and no-one was there. Whatever that was about, Dean couldn’t imagine it was what Drew had been hoping for. 

“So, how does this work?” Dean asked, taking a mug from Sam and using it to give his hands something to do. They were twitchy, what with sitting and watching yet another spell being set up on Cas. “Do we get a sign on a map, or what?”

“No, of course not,” Drew said, as though Dean had missed Nephilim-Tracing 101 and would fail the course because of it. “There’ll be a resonance. Or a vision.”

“Or? There’s an ‘or’?” Dean asked, glaring at the back of Drew’s head. “You’re not sounding mighty sure there. This the first time you’ve done this or something?”

Drew paused in his drawing, his hands clenching and unclenching like he’d just love to get something and squash it. Maybe Dean’s head. He spoke over his shoulder, his annoyance clear.

“Of course this is the first time I’ve done this. It’s the first time anybody’s done this. I’m making this up as I go, you ignorant-”

“Drew.” It was a snap of command, and even Dean jumped at Cas’ voice. 

The angel still wasn’t looking at Drew, but his brows were drawn together and his jaw was tense. A faint buzz of something ran along Dean’s skin, making the hairs stand on end.

Faith returned to the bed and climbed on behind Cas, sitting back on her knees just slightly to the side and behind him, and set a hand on his right shoulder.

“Drew didn’t mean that,” she said, soft and calm. “It’s just been hard for us all. Wonderful, but hard. Seeing you alive, that is. Let’s just get this done.”

Cas’ lip twitched, and Dean thought he was going to say something, but then he just nodded, once, and went back to staring at the wall. 

“Okay,” Faith said. “We about done there, Drew?”

Drew didn’t speak, either, but he swiped his hand across Castiel’s stomach, a long, curving line with a jagged end, and pulled away, standing and dipping his hands in the brass bowl. 

“It’s ready. Are you sure about this? I can do it.”

“No,” Faith said. “No. Best not. We need the strongest signal we can get. Dean?”

“What?” No-one had mentioned anything to Dean about taking part in this. “What am I meant to be doing?”

Drew’s face was stony. “You just need to act as our point of contact. My spell will do the rest.”

“Isn’t Cas our point of contact?” Dean asked, even as he moved, pushing himself from the bed and moving to sit next to Cas.

“No.” Faith gestured at him before he could sit down. “Where Drew was. And no, Cas is the conduit. You have to be the contact point. I’ll keep an eye on you all and Drew can initiate the spell. Okay?”

“What’s Sam doing?” Dean asked as he took Drew’s abandoned place, kneeling at Cas’ feet. Which… Yeah. Weird. The last time he’d looked up at Cas from his knees it had been a world of pain. And he’d certainly never done it in a bedroom, with Cas on the bed, and… “Sam hasn’t got a job. Don’t leave him out. He’ll cry.”

“It has been my experience that Sam is most likely to cry when people die,” Cas said. “I think he will find a way to restrain himself in this.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam said, but Dean looked across in time to see the look Sam gave Cas. It was a puzzled look. 

“Good,” Faith said, as though that tense energy was not in the room. “Then let’s get this done. Dean, place your hands here and here.”

She pointed at a spot in the middle of Cas’ chest, where the red paste left a clear patch of skin, and at Cas’ temple. It meant having to rise up on his knees, but that was fine. It took away some of the weirdness of looking up at Cas. It was less fine to put his hands flat against Cas’ skin and hold them there, but it was for the spell. Dean could do this. 

“So, what happens now?” he asked.

His answer was the sound of a match being lit and Drew launching into a chant. Dean heard him moving about the room, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the candles and incense being lit as Drew walked and chanted. It was a language he didn’t know. Maybe it was the one Cas hadn’t been able to read, back at the bunker when his memories had still been locked away. 

It took a while to get everything lit, and Dean was starting to feel a little foolish. He was more and more aware of Cas’ over-warm skin under his right palm, and the way he was breathing, moving Dean’s hand with each breath. And Sam was just over in the corner, watching. It felt wrong.

He opened his mouth to say it wasn’t working, but a sharp jolt ran through him as Drew threw out another word, a word with bite, and Dean gasped.

It wasn’t just a jolt of shock, or pain. It was sound, light, sensation. He was somewhere filled with voices and music, but it was all muted. The voices were speaking quietly, but there seemed to be hundreds of them, the rise and fall melodic. There was a sense of light, each voice a spot of brilliance that faded out as Dean’s awareness shifted, moving through the crowds until he was before a light brighter and larger than the others. This one towered. This one loomed. This one-

“Dean!”

Sam’s panic broke through and Dean found himself slumped back against his brother, could hear his own breaths coming in quick, shallow pants. He let himself stay there until his head stopped spinning and he could stand to open his eyes. At first, it was all a blur, but after his heart slowed and he was steadier, it resolved itself back into the bedroom, with Faith still kneeling on the bed, her hands on Cas’ shoulders. It looked like she was pretty much holding him up, his head lolling forwards and the red paste smeared. 

“What happened?” Dean asked. “Did it work?”

“It worked,” Cas ground out. He waved Faith away, not that she listened, and managed to sit up straighter, though it clearly cost him. “Did you see it, too, Dean?”

“I heard voices, saw a bunch of lights. One of them was… It was huge.”

Cas nodded, looking like he regretted the movement instantly. 

“Yes. Lights. You were seeing what a Nephilim sees. I suppose your mind would have translated it as lights.”

Before Dean could ask what Cas meant, Faith beat him to it. 

“Where are they?” she asked. “Could you tell.”

Cas reached back over his shoulder and took one of Faith’s hand. It threw Dean to realise that Cas was shaking. 

“I know,” Cas said. He looked right at Dean and shook his head. “It would have been better had you killed me when I asked. Seraphine and Jay are at the Court of the King.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..., it might not seem like it from how I wander, but this is where this has been heading all this time. :)


	51. Catching up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to do too many things at once. You all almost got the blurb from my writing group's latest anthology instead of this chapter, and tiny though this chapter is, I think that would not have been a suitable replacement.

“King?” Sam asked, and Dean was glad his brother was taking on the job of asking, because he still couldn’t form words properly after that. “There’s a King?”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Did you think Nephilim society ended when the city fell?”

Dean coughed, and felt Sam steady him. He wanted to say that, yes, he had thought that. The way Faith had told it, they were the only ones left and they’d been on the lam with Cas this whole time, when he could get away from Heaven to guard them. Although, he did seem to remember something about a king, now he thought about it.

There wasn’t exactly a rush to fill in the gaps for the humans, and by the time Dean felt stable enough to sit up on his own the tension in the room was enough to make him want a drink. Cas hadn’t moved from his place on the bed, his hand still folded around Faith’s as she knelt behind him. The only difference was that now she was resting her chin on his shoulder. It would have been sweeter if not for the red paste still coating Cas’ skin, a real parent and child bonding moment or some shit. 

Drew was curled into himself only a few feet away. He didn’t seem inclined to join in this conversation any further.

“Look,” Dean said finally, “whatever this is, and clearly you are not happy campers, here, it’s still a lead. You don’t want to go? Fine. Sam and I’ll go.”

He felt Sam’s surprise as much as saw it, and, yeah, it was a turn around. Dean wasn’t even saying that just so he could drag Seraphine back. Cas’ confusion over what she was up to was enough to at least make Dean want to ask again, rather than stabbing her through at first sight. 

“You?” Drew did choose to speak up, now. “At Court?” The disbelief was palpable. “You’d barely make it five minutes. You can’t possibly go alone.”

“They won’t,” Cas said. “I will go.”

“No,” Drew said, and his voice was sharp, insistent, but it didn’t have anything like the power Cas’ tone held. “We only just got you back. You can’t go marching in there.”

Dean wondered how close Drew had been to saying ‘I’ instead of ‘we’. 

Faith frowned from her place at Cas’ back.

“Someone has to go,” she said, “or we’ve got Castiel back only to lose Seraphine and Jay, and whatever you might think of Seraphine just now, Drew, she is still our sister, and no blame falls on Jay for any of this.”

“No?” Drew asked. “Castiel left Jay in charge, and this is what’s happened. He’s to blame somewhere along the line for some of it.”

“Then we all are,” Faith said. “We’re all meant to look out for each other. If we hadn’t been doing that, the King would have brought us under his control centuries ago. You now the rules. No one goes to Court without back-up. I say we all go.”

“This Court sounds like somewhere none of you want to be,” Sam said. “Do you really think you should all just take off on a field-trip there? Dean’s right. You can brief us and we can at least go scope it out before you commit to anything.”

“I am afraid, Sam,” Cas, “that Seraphine has already committed me.”

“Cas, no.” Dean ignored the way Drew nodded at that and kept right on. “Haven’t you had enough with the sweeping in to save people who don’t appreciate you? Who’ve tried to kill you? And what does it ever get you? Just pain and misery and yet another mess you feel you have to clean up. You didn’t start this, whatever it is. You haven’t even been here.”

Which had been the wrong thing to say. He knew that as soon as the last word was out, as soon as he saw Cas’ face tighten.

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t. But I should have been. And you can’t tell me I didn’t start this, Dean. This started long before you were born.”

With one last squeeze of Faith’s hand, a gesture that looked alien on Cas, the angel stood and looked down at himself. 

“I need to clean up and we need to plan this properly. Drew, collect what we have on the Court at the present time. Jay must have kept some records there. I taught him that much. Faith, help Sam and Dean pack. They don’t need to be any further part of this.”

He made it partway around the bed before his words clicked in Dean’s brain properly, and one lunge left Cas standing part-turned back to Dean with his arm in a firm grip. Cas felt warm and solid under Dean’s hand, and he refused to let go.

“Hell, no, Cas. We are not bailing on you. Not this time.”

“Fine,” Cas said, but he sounded far from happy about it. “Then we will all meet in half an hour downstairs to plan our approach. Faith, if the Winchesters are staying then you can bring me your father’s journals.”

Dean couldn’t help but loosen his hold a little at the mention of Faith’s father. Cas took advantage and pulled away.

“And us?” Dean asked. “What can we do?”

“Whatever I tell you to do, you will do what you feel is needed,” Cas said, apparently not noticing or else not caring that Dean winced at the words. “Do whatever you like for now, but if you are coming with us, you will follow my orders at Court.”

Without further word, he left the room, Faith and Drew practically on his heels, and Dean turned to see his brother looked dumbfounded.

“That…was weird,” Sam offered. “He’s Cas, but he’s also kind of not.”

“Perceptive.” Dean aimed for sarcastic, but he was still too shaken for it to hit properly. “You sure you’re in for going to this Court? I know it’s not our usual deal.”

“I’m in,” Sam said, without hesitation. “It’s for Cas, right? Even if he’s got these new memories and a family, and that is not something I’ve got my head around yet, he’s still Cas. He’s practically a brother, right?”

Dean nodded, but he looked away from Sam. 

“Yeah. A brother. Hey, that makes Faith our niece. Think we should buy her a toy or something? Take her out for ice-cream?” And this time he managed to get almost the right tone of voice for a stupid joke. It didn’t used to be this hard to cover what he was feeling with humour. 

“I’m pretty sure Cas wouldn’t want you taking his daughter out for ice-cream, Dean,” Sam said, and it was just a bit too obvious he was playing along, that he was being a shade too careful. “The guy knows your track record.”

“What, you think he’d rather have you for a son-in-law?” Dean couldn’t help it if that came out a bit sharp. They were joking around, giving each other space to catch up mentally to what was going on, but the thought that Cas might really have an issue with Dean’s past wasn’t one he liked to think about. 

Sam must be in one of those moods where making sure Dean was all right was high up his list, because his voice was softer when he spoke again.

“I think Cas would have an issue with you getting together with Faith, Dean, but it wouldn’t be anything to do with looking down on you.”

And that was too close to dealing with the complex tangle of emotions he’d been feeling, far too close, even though some part of him felt an urge to take this chance and open up to Sam, to bring it all out into the light, and where the hell was that coming from? 

“Yeah, well. Cas might not have given us a job, but we can still be useful. I say we get ready to be on the road, check we have a full stock of supplies.”

“You know what we need to face off against an entire Court of Nephilim?” Sam asked.

Dean shook his head.

“At this point, I think the biggest help would a drawing of Cas’ family tree. But we work with what we’ve got.”

Clapping his brother on the shoulder, Dean forced himself to leave the room with at least some of his usual swagger, a brief flash of a thought about just getting in the Impala and driving away from all this easily suppressed. He’d driven all his life, it seemed, but this was one time the open road would be no help at all. He had to see this through, find a way to get Cas his family back. After that, there’d be time to work out how he fit in to the angel’s new, or old, life. After.


	52. The Court of the King

Cas was already in the front room when Sam and Dean walked in, standing with his back to the fireplace and a focused look on his face. He’d got some pants from somewhere, black and looser than Dean would have expected, but he didn’t seem to have bothered about finding anything else to wear. The sigils, at least, were gone from his skin. No-one else was around.

“You planning on covering up more before we go visit a king?” Dean asked.

He stopped a few feet from Cas, hearing Sam stop a little further back, and tried to get a read on whether Cas was feeling better. It was hard to say. There was still a lack of colour to his skin and a tightness to the way he held himself that could have been pain. His eyes were more alert, though, so there was that.

“We will all need to change before reaching the King,” Cas said. “Faith will ensure we are all properly attired. Are you still insistent on coming with us?”

Us. It cut Cas off, made him part of a different group. Dean tried not to grimace.

“Yeah, Cas,” he heard Sam say. “We’re sure. We’re here for you, man.”

Cas wasn’t really looking at either one of them, but some of the tension around his eyes softened. 

“Then, thank-you,” he said. “It won’t be easy. I should warn you that you will have to show respect. No, Dean.” He paused briefly until Dean shut his mouth. “I have seen you face archangels, and I have seen you walk away from them when most beings in the history of the universe would have died for the way you dealt with them, and some of that was because of what you were to their plans, but some of it was just…you. Understand that the King, he won’t be willing to let such rudeness go, and I have no interest in seeing you executed. If nothing else, it will hinder our attempts to return Jay and Seraphine home. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Sam said, apparently deciding that Dean wasn’t to be trusted to handle this conversation on his own. “We’ll do exactly as you say. Promise.”

“Well,” said Dean, “as long as it’s working.”

At that, Cas met Dean’s eyes, and Dean nearly took a step back. Cas hadn’t looked at him like that in years, as though he could leave Dean in the dirt and walk away, as though he’d put Dean there if pushed. Dean was suddenly reminded of needing to give Cas more respect.

“You will do as you are told, Dean Winchester,” Cas said. For a moment, he loomed. Dean half expected to hear thunder, to see wings outlined against the wall in lightening strikes, but the moment passed, and Cas was just…Cas. “I will not lose you.” He eyes flicked to Sam. “Either of you. Now. Again. Are we clear?”

Dean swallowed and turned to look at Sam, who raised his eyebrows and nodded deliberately, the look on his face making it clear that he was not on board with Dean messing around here. 

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean said, turning back. “Okay. I promise, too. You mind telling us what the plan is?”

“We’re going with something simple and direct,” Cas said. “We will go to Court and pay our respects. Once there, we will ascertain whether Seraphine and Jay are being held against their will, and why. After that, our options may become limited.”

“Limited? By what? To what?” Sam asked.

Cas returned to a stance that looked like he was at parade rest, gazing over their shoulders. Again, it was something Dean hadn’t seen him do for quite some time. Working out who Cas was now was going to take some time.

“We won’t know until we get there. But you must be prepared to fight, or run, or behave politely. Whichever is required.” His voice turned wry. “I do know which one you will find most difficult.”

Before he could demand another promise, Faith appeared, carrying a heavy leather satchel and wearing some sort of long, earthy-red tunic over loose pants. The patterns along the hem and up one side were in gold and copper thread and her hair was tied up in coils. 

“I thought I’d get a head start,” she said, when Sam looked at her with a question on his face. “Clothes for the rest of you are over here.”

She dropped the satchel on the floor and moved over to a pile of bags by the far wall, pulling things around and returning with an armful of clothing. Shaking it out, Dean saw more of the loose pants Cas was wearing, both a good match for the tunic Faith had on, and long tunics which would come down almost to the knee, almost as far as Faith’s. 

“These are what we have to wear to meet the King?” he asked, not sure how he felt about it. On the one hand, Faith looked awesome and they seemed practical, really, but they weren’t anything he’d worn before.

“I doubt it,” Faith said. “Fashions at Court change quickly, relatively speaking, and could borrow from anywhere. The Court moves around. These are more standard outfits for my people. We still tend to wear them when first arriving. It’s a sign of respect for our past, even if the younger ones don’t remember it.”

“Younger?” Sam frowned. “I though the city was destroyed thousands of years ago.”

“It was.” Faith tilted her head. “How is that a problem?”

“You said after that, angels and humans stopped mixing the same way,” Sam went on. “So how are there younger Nephilim?”

“Ah,” Faith nodded, as though pleased Sam had been clear. “That’s hardly stopped Nephilim having children of their own.”

For a moment, Dean met Cas’ eyes. He’d told Cas about the kid Seraphine had said she was trying to protect, but Cas had sworn Dean to secrecy. And now Dean had promised to follow Cas’ instructions. He had the horrible feeling there was something about this he wasn’t getting, but as he had no map to follow here, he just had to go along for the ride until he worked out where to take the wheel. 

“How big is this society of yours?” Sam asked. He had that look he got when his intellectual interest was taking over from the real, at hand issues, but Faith didn’t seem impatient with him.

“It’s hard to say. Since we decided to keep our distance from Court we don’t get all of the information, but the King tends to keep a lot of things to his inner circle, in any case, and population numbers are a hazy area. Expect to see several hundred of us today.”

“It’s close, then?” Dean asked. “We’ll get their today?”

“It doesn’t matter where it is, Dean.” And now Faith sounded vaguely amused. 

Drew arrived with another armload of bags and Faith went to pick up the ones she’d left against the wall. Taking his cue from Cas, who pulled on the top Faith had handed him, Dean quickly changed, seeing Sam do the same out of the corner of his eye. The clothes fit, he had to give Faith that, but the material felt stiffer than he was used to. 

Faith ushered them closer together once she had the bags, handing off some to Dean and some to Sam. Cas didn’t get any. She looked at Cas once all of the bags were in someone’s care, but he signed and shook his head.

“You’re going to have to take care of this between you. My Grace is still tied up, and my wings… Well.”

“Right.” Faith bit her lip. Faith. Looking less than confident. “Sorry. I forgot.”

Cas nodded and she turned to Drew, who looked unhappy. Then again, Drew had looked various kinds of pissed, bereft and lost since Cas had woken up, so it was hard to read anything in particular into it. Dean still hadn’t heard Cas say much to Drew, other than to give a few orders. This was not what he’d expected from what Drew had said before Cas got his memories back. Not at all. Not that he was complaining. It beat watching Drew and Cas make-out in front of him, or whatever it was Drew had thought might happen.

Right now, Drew stepped up between Dean and Cas, placing a hand on either shoulder, and Faith did the same between Cas and Sam. 

“Don’t fight it,” Cas said.

Dean didn’t have time to ask what he was avoiding fighting, because Faith began to glow around the edges, just as Drew’s hand on his shoulder grew warm. Flakes of what looked like fire sifted off her, rising and whirling the way real sparks did from a bonfire, and it was beautiful. Also fucking weird, because Faith was turning to fire and dissolving. 

She looked perfectly calm, if determined, and Dean glanced at Drew to see the same thing happening to him, his jaw clenched tight. Cas was standing staring off into the distance, and he didn’t even react when his shoulder, where Drew was touching him, ignited with that same fiery glow. 

Looking the other way, he saw Sam staring at Faith, fascination in his eyes. 

It had started off pretty slow, but as he looked back at Faith it sped up, until she was nothing but a whirl of those glowing sparks, taking Sam and Cas with her. The warmth from Drew’s hand spread, and Dean’s vision became a blur of red and yellow and orange, filling his eyes even as he lost all sense of his own body.

Whatever this was, it was all encompassing, raging, billowing. He felt he was being buffeted, even though he didn’t have hands or a head or a body anymore, and there was a feeling of movement that lasted long enough he wondered if this was it, if whatever spell they’d been casting had gone wrong.

He would have panicked, but he didn’t seem to be able to. There was no adrenaline or breathing or anything. Just the sparks and the movement. 

A thud ran up his whole body, starting from his heels, and it was with surprise that he realised he had his body back. And his emotions.

“What the fuck was that?” he hissed, taking deep breaths and glaring round to make sure Sam was all right. 

He was. He was grinning. 

“That was amazing,” he said. “What was it? A spell? What’s the base? Do you need a lot of ingredients? No. Wait. Which culture is it rooted in?”

“No spell,” Drew said, and there was no need for him to sound so sullen and condescending. “Seraphs are basically celestial fire. You know that, right?” He didn’t sound like he thought they would know that. “And it shows in their offspring when we fly.”

“You will have time to explain it to Sam later,” Cas said, cutting off what looked like a thousand questions Sam seemed to have building up behind his eyes. “We need to get moving. Sam, Dean, walk either side of Faith. Drew, I assume you remember how to behave.”

It didn’t sound like Cas thought Drew remembered how to behave. Dean really had to get Cas on his own again and ask him about that. Not that he wanted Drew and Cas back together. It was just that the tension couldn’t be good for Cas when he was still not well. Dean was sure the angel was still hiding pain, maybe using the memories coming back as some excuse to pretend the pain had been taken care of, too. It was in the way Cas held himself, though, in the tense lines of his back and shoulders.

For the first time since the weird flight had ended, Dean took in where they were. It was a large room with high ceilings and white, wood-paneled walls. Carvings danced in straight lines up the walls at intervals, the shapes picked out in gold, and when Dean craned his neck he saw elaborate paintings filling the space above him. There was no furniture and no-one else around.

“Where are we?” he asked. 

“Arrivals,” Faith said, and moved to stand off to the side a bit, gesturing Sam in place on one side of her and Dean right to the other side of the group, so he was flanking Drew. Cas stood in the middle, slightly ahead of the others, so they were in a shallow arrow formation. It made as much sense as anything else in Dean’s life did these days. 

Moments after they were arranged as Faith wanted, the double doors ahead of them opened, the split down the middle spilling a warmer light into the room and bringing the sounds of people with it. 

Two people stepped through, each dressed in fancy coats that looked like someone had raided a museum on 1800s clothing and then added more sparkle. Despite the overwhelming feeling of them being in costume, they both had sharp expressions and steady gazes, and Dean felt himself wanting to get into a fighting stance. 

Thing was, he had no idea of the lay of the land, here. The way the Court had been spoken about, it had sounded like enemy territory, but they were turning up as though they were guests. He did not know how to play this.

One lingering look along the line was all any of them got, except Cas, because when the woman on the left got to Cas she gasped. It was brief, bitten back, but it happened. After that, they only looked at the angel.

“Apologies, Burning One, we weren’t warned of your visit,” the second woman said, bowing her head. The other one joined her, and Dean had to work not to react. This was some bizarre role-play or some shit. No way was this real.

But Cas inclined his head in some kind of acknowledgment, practically no expression on his face. 

“I thank you for your welcome,” he said, even though there hadn’t exactly been a massive welcome so far, “and request an audience with the King.”

“Of course,” the same woman said, but there had been just a tiny pause, Dean was sure. “We will show you to your rooms and bring word.”

And that seemed to be that. Before he knew it, Dean was part of an entourage making its way through large, fancy hallway after large, fancy hallway, any people they came across stepping to the side and bowing their heads, if not putting on more of a show of it. He was thrown when one woman, wearing much less elaborate clothing, folded herself right up, her head almost to the floor. A glance at Drew and at Cas beyond him showed no sign of shock or concern, so Dean let it go, but it rankled. It wasn’t like he’d turned up here with a good impression of it, but the more human, less glaring-lights version was making him dislike it in a whole other way.

He wasn’t any happier once they were left in a suite of rooms.

“I have to wear what, now?”

Faith had disappeared into one of the other rooms and come back with yet more clothing. It was in a similar style to the over the top, old fashioned frock coats and waistcoats Dean had seen on the Nephilim as they’d made their way here, but with less glittery thread and more real gems. He changed quickly into what Faith handed him, having a bit of trouble with the many silver bronze coloured buttons until Faith came and helped him. 

“How do you have these hanging round?” Sam asked.

Faith shrugged.

“Fashions change, but they come back round. It’ll be obvious to anyone that these aren’t current, but they’re close not to cause offence. Besides, the gems on these will buy us a lot of leeway with being cutting edge. You should think yourself lucky, Dean. For about eight years the fashion was something that looked disturbingly like everything had been made from doilies and leaves. I never worked out what that was about.”

At Cas’ expression, she shrugged.

“It was during one of your trips up to Heaven. I only came to get access to some scrolls.”

Though it was obvious Cas wasn’t best pleased to hear that, he didn’t comment. Instead, he set about stripping out of his tunic and pants, revealing a back that looked more muscled than Dean remembered. Of course, no-one’s back looked at its best when it had a gaping wound in it. 

He coughed and looked away, catching Sam’s eye as he went. Thankfully, his brother didn’t say anything.

Dean made a point of smiling at Faith.

“That real, about the leaf suits, or are you just making it up so we feel better?

Faith smirked back.

“It’s more fun to make you guess,” she said, before setting to stripping out of her own clothes. 

Dean coughed and turned away, bringing Cas right back into his line of sight. God-damn angel and his family seemed intent on flashing Dean today. At least Cas was done. This time, Cas had ended up dressed in a deep blue that might as well have been black, a snowy white shirt with honest-to-god ruffles spilling out from his coat. He looked good in it, and with the sapphires sewn on, but damned if Dean was going to say that.

“We could hang you up as a Christmas decoration,” he said instead. 

Cas narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, letting his gaze travel up and down Dean in a way that made him feel like he’d not put his clothes on at all.

“Perhaps we will have you as an ornament,” Cas said, and he sounded just serious enough that Dean wasn’t even sure it was an attempt to join in on Dean’s crappy joke, or Cas actually had the clout around here to make Dean into some living piece of art. 

“So, what, we just wait around here now and see if the King will see us?” Sam asked.

“We won’t have to wait long,” Drew said. “Castiel never has to wait long.”

Again, there was a bitter edge that made Dean think about having it out with Drew right there and then, but before he could say anything a knock at the door pulled him up short. 

“Sam, will you get that?” Faith asked.

Without protest, Sam did as he was asked, his own outfit making him look like he’d escaped from an Austen novel. At least Sam and Dean didn’t have so many gems sewn on everywhere. Dean’s russet brown coat was almost tasteful. The man on the other side of the door stepped past Sam without acknowledging him and bowed.

“The King is pleased to receive you now, Seraph,” he said. “If you would follow me.”

As he turned, the man seemed to catch Drew’s eye. Probably wondering why Drew was doing a good impression of someone who’d swallowed a whole heap of lemons. 

Again, they fell in to the arrow formation, Cas walking ahead of the man who’d come with the message, no matter what the guy had said about following him. He looked annoyed about it, in a tight-faced way, but nothing was said. 

It took almost as long to reach their destination as it had to get to their suite from the arrival room, and Dean was itchy in his fancy clothes long before they walked into a room four times the size of the place they’d first turned up. Right at the far end, a high-backed chair sat on a raised platform. It wasn’t quite like the thrones Dean had seen in movies, but he supposed it did the same job. Around the chair, a crowd of people in outfits flashier and more over the top than Cas’ stood, staring, and in the chair… Well. The King lounged with one leg stretched out and his chin in one hand, wearing something in a shade of old-gold. He looked bored to tears. He also looked to be about twenty. 

It was tough keeping his mouth shut as they approached, and Dean was going to get back into his jeans and go find some warehouse to have a fight with a monster in as soon as they were done here. 

He put up with bowing from the waist when he saw Faith doing that, even keeping his feelings about it off his face. Cas didn’t bow. He didn’t incline his head. He just stood and stared at the boy on the throne. Who stared back, and sat up straighter, hie eyes sharpening.

“The Seraph Castiel,” he said, and at least his tone was more what Dean had expected from a king. “To what do we owe your presence at Court, after all this time?”

“I seek the return of those under my charge,” Cas said. “Were are Jay and Seraphine?”

“Seraphine has brought her brother here to receive care from our healers,” the King said. At least he didn’t look bored anymore. Dean wasn’t sure if it was barely concealed glee or something else, but it wasn’t boredom. “They are free to leave at any time, of course. As per our agreement.”

A woman next to the throne leaned down, whispering into the man’s ear, and his lips twitched. That was almost certainly a suppressed smile.

“I am informed you are not in the best of health, Seraph,” the King said. “May I offer you the services of my personal healer?”

Cas glanced at Faith, who shook her head, and then at Drew, who did the same. Dean had no idea what they were conveying to him, but Cas lifted his chin and took three precise steps forwards, until he was partway between his group and the man on the throne.

A moment of pressure filled the room and Dean gritted his teeth, scanning for where it could be coming from. The pressure built, peaking and breaking with Dean none the wiser. Until he looked back at Cas. At Cas who stood with his back straight and spectral, blue-edged wings arcing up to either side. 

Just like they had been before, back in the bunker, the wings looked like energy brought into a partly solid state, black and filled with stars and with arcing lightning bolts. 

The King sat forward in his chair, his lips parting, and there was no mistaking the glee on his face now. Whatever this was about, it was delighting him.

Dean stepped forward, but Drew’s hand shot out and clamped onto his wrist, though Drew himself kept his gaze fixed on Cas. He would have pulled free, but Cas moved before he could, the wings spreading wider as Cas knelt, and folding out around Cas, along the floor, as Cas bent his head almost to the floor. 

Drew’s hand tightened as the King stood.

“Your offer is accepted, Castiel,” the King said. “Your presence in my Court for theirs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really like the thought of Cas dressed kind of like Mr Darcy from the BBC Pride and Prejudice, which is the only one worth watching.


	53. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit talk heavy, but I think we're nearly at something kicking off, so bear with me. :) And let me know if there's anything you like.

Cas’ feathers fanned out across the floor, framing his back. The King looked down on him as though he’d been offered a prize, as though Cas was some object he could own, and Dean pulled against Drew’s grip. It did no good.

The King gestured and Cas rose, the movement fluid and graceful, tucking his wings behind his back. The edges faded, but the King gestured again, a sharp movement with his hand, and the wings solidified. If anything, they were more solid now, almost looking like something Dean could reach out and touch, if only Drew would let him go. 

Cas didn’t look back at Dean or the others as he moved to stand next to the throne. The people gathered there fell back, giving Cas space, and he took up station right next to the King, who regarded the angel with satisfaction as he sank back on to his seat. 

Before Dean could react, Faith stepped into the spot Cas had vacated, her chin tilted up and her gaze on the boy who had somehow just taken possession of Castiel. 

“A deal has been done, Your Majesty,” she said, and Dean wasn’t sure how she was managing to thread so much disdain into her voice and yet still sounded so…polite. He wondered if this was some sort of politics. “I will see my brother and sister, now.”

“Of course,” the King said, as though granting a favour. “You will be taken to them. You understand that Jay is still too ill to be brought from his bed. Seraphine is being her usual self and will not leave his side. I have always admired the loyalty of your family.” There was some hidden sneer in that. “But I am sure the two of you will be able to visit for a short while each day until he is recovered enough to travel.”

Dean couldn’t look away from Cas, who was staring blankly ahead as though the rest of the room had vanished. Still, he shifted at the King’s words, his wings flexing just slightly. 

“I am sure it will not be too long,” the King said, as though suddenly reminded to add that extra bit. “Would you prefer to see them now? Or will you rest in your rooms first? I am sure you are still fatigued from the journey here. Travel is not easy for those not of Royal blood. Or so I am told.”

Faith’s lips twitched. 

“Rest would be welcome, of course,” she said. “But I would see my brother and sister before the evening meal. You understand how eager one can be to see family.”

Dean looked over in time to see the King narrow his eyes. He was going to have to ask what all of this was about. 

“Family is something to treasure, indeed,” the King said. “I will ask my healers to persuade Seraphine away from your brother for the meal. Until then.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Faith bowed, this time just her head, even as Drew, with Sam following, bowed from the waist. Grimacing, Dean followed. Cas was right next to that bastard, still likely in pain, and Dean had no idea what would happen if the King got pissed now. 

When Faith span around and practically marched out of the hall, Dean had to lengthen his stride to catch up, and she wouldn’t speak until they were back in those rooms.

“Okay,” Dean said, as soon as the door was closed, “what the fuck just happened?”

He didn’t get an answer. Drew stopped far closer to Faith than seemed comfortable, his eyes narrowed and shoulders tense, and Dean didn’t understand the words that spilled out. They were flowing and harsh at once, the odd syllable catching at his ear as though he should understand it. 

“What are you saying?” Dean demanded, moving closer. “Hey. Hey! What are you saying?”

Drew cut off, still glaring at Faith. At least he switched to English, his words stilted and angry.

“This won’t work. We’re all at risk. He should have-”

“You have no right to dictate what Castiel does,” Faith broke in, measured and firm. She met Drew’s gaze and held it until he looked away, a scowl twisting his features. “We stick with the plan.”

“You going to share this plan with us?” Dean asked.

Drew turned his glare on Dean, just for a second, and stormed out of the room into one of the bedrooms. Faith sighed, lifting her hand and pressing against the bridge of her nose. 

“Castiel knows what he’s doing,” she said.

“Great.” Dean shot a look at Sam, who had his eyes on Faith. “But see, Cas tends to shoot off on some pretty out-there schemes, so that doesn’t do a whole lot to make me feel better.”

“It isn’t about you feeling better,” Faith said, and the first words were a snap, control clamping down on the end of the sentence to smooth it out. “It’s about getting as many of us out of here safe as we can.”

“You mean all,” Sam said, “This plan will get you all out.”

“We can do without Seraphine,” Dean said.

This time, Sam glared at him. Yeah. Right. Seraphine was Faith’s sister. Didn’t mean Dean had to pretend to like her.

“Castiel said you wouldn’t like this,” Faith muttered. 

“No kidding.” Dean wanted to reach out and grab her, to pull the words from her that would tell him how to save Cas from whatever fucked up plan the guy had got himself into this time, the Mark pulsing and itching and pushing him on to just reach out and…but Sam was hovering on the other side of Faith, warning and concern written all over him, and Faith herself was someone Dean just didn’t see himself handling that way. She was Cas’ kid, for God’s sake. Cas’ kid who’d just let the angel sign himself over to this king’s service and said nothing. He tried for a more measured tone. “What exactly does agreeing to serve this king mean, anyway? We talking pouring him wine, going into battle…what?”

Faith grimaced.

“He didn’t agree to serve the King. He offered to take Jay and Seraphine’s places. Which mean whatever status they had at court is now Castiel’s.”

Frowning, Sam took a step closer, one hand out and drifting near to Faith’s elbow, as though he wanted to get an actual grip on her to see if that made her words any clearer.

“Wait, what? But…Jay’s a patient. Right?”

And there was no way Sam really believed that. It was in the tilt of his head, the shade of his eyes. Sam was way to bright to miss any subtle details about Jay and Seraphine, even if Dean was still at the sick, churning feelings in the stomach phase.

“You know that’s a lie,” Faith said. “I still don’t really know what Seraphine’s position here is, but Jay is a prisoner, and now so is Castiel. This is…” She shook her head. “The King has been attempting to get one of us under his hand since before he took the throne. I can’t imagine he ever truly thought he could achieve it, not with Castiel around, and to take Castiel himself…” 

“I don’t get it,” Dean said, all too worried that he got at least some of it. He hoped he was wrong. “I thought you guys were all Nephilim, and Cas was the one angel who’d back you against his dick family. Aren’t you all related?”

“As we said before, not all angels are related. The King claims ties to the throne, but his claim is less secure than he would like, and he has always seemed threatened by us. By Castiel. To have him bound to him…”

“But he can’t be bound to King, right?” Sam asked. “He’s bound to Dean.”

Faith shrugged and moved away, working on the buttons of her coat, each twist of her fingers sharp and precise. 

“There are different kinds of binding. But I tell you now, if you let the King know about your bond with Castiel, it will put the both of you in danger. You need to keep that quiet.”

“Believe me, I’d love nothing more than to stop hearing about this fucking bond,” Dean said, ignoring the look Sam gave him. “But if Drew could tell, won’t one of the half-angel’s here work it out?”

Faith winced. 

“Not half-angels, Dean,” she said. “We’re not half. We’re entirely what we are. And I already told you this, as well: Drew is the best there is. I know you don’t get along, that you dislike him, resent him. But he’s good. I doubt anyone in service to the King will be so quick to reach the conclusion that Castiel is bonded to you. For one thing, I doubt any of them will be able to conceive that you could bind him. They won’t believe it.”

“You did.”

“Yes. Well. I’d to use a spell no-one in their right mind would perform on a Seraph. Not here. You have to understand, the angels have been absent from court in any great numbers for thousands of years. Only Castiel and a handful of others have set foot here since the fall of the city, and the respect my people have for them is very strong. The King will want to show his people that he commands a Seraph, now, and I don’t know quite how he’ll do that, but it’ll take some time before he can convince enough people Castiel is less than he was, before he can change opinion enough that someone would cast a spell on him. Your secret should be safe for now. No. The greater problem is that the King will want to know why we have humans with us. He may send you away.”

“No.” Sam answered before Dean could. “We stay. Until you’re all out, we stay.”

Faith paused, her coat half undone, to stare at Sam. She tilted her head as though needing to see him from a new angle.

“That’s…sweet of you,” she said, at last. “But if the King decides that you must go, you’ll go. There’s a reason everyone dresses in line with fashion, you know, and it’s not just the usual desire to fit in.”

“Are you saying the King makes them?” Sam asked. He’d drifted closer to Faith again.

“The King is a petty, power-mad, paranoid fool,” Faith said, as though stating the weather. “His mother wouldn’t have treated Castiel this way, no matter what.”

“So we just let Cas hand himself over to a kid who, what, likes to pull the wings of angels?” Dean asked. That creeping sense of dread was pounding at him, now, making him want to stride out of the room and right to wherever Cas was. He wanted to drag Cas out of there, no matter who else got hurt. 

Cas had made him promise to follow the plan, but he hadn’t known it would mean watching Cas sacrifice himself. Again. 

Faith pulled off her coat and threw it over a chair, rolling up her sleeves and staring into the middle distance. 

“No. Of course not. Or rather, if we can, we get him back. But he was clear: we get Jay and Seraphine first. For that, we have to attend this meal, and we need to be ready for whatever the King might throw at us. Are you going to be able to behave, no matter what that brat does to Castiel?”

“He’ll behave,” Sam promised, before Dean could open his mouth. 

“Good,” Faith said. “Because the King acquired his throne by murdering his own mother, so don’t think for a moment you can afford to piss him off. Understand me, Dean? You keep your temper in check, keep that Mark under control, or you’ll be risking you and Castiel both being killed, and that bond won’t work if you die together.”


	54. Candle-light

Drew didn’t reappear and eventually Faith vanished off after him, leaving Sam and Dean in the lavishly decorated room.

“You know you need to do what she says, right?” Sam asked. “This is her territory, Dean. She knows these people. We don’t. You going to be able to hold it together?”

“I can hold anything, Sam,” Dean said, and pushed on before Sam could comment. “This isn’t right, though, and you know it. Cas spent all that time being controlled by Heaven, by Michael and Zak and Naomi, and now he’s handed himself over to this teenager? To save a woman who tortured him? You don’t see a problem with this?”

“He’s doing it to save his son, Dean,” Sam said, dropping his volume on the last few words and shooting a look over his shoulder as though he could check through a wall that Faith hadn’t heard him. “And his daughter. You really telling me you wouldn’t put yourself in danger for your kid?”

A brief image of a blonde girl lying dead on the floor of a crappy room flashed through Dean’s mind, but Emma wasn’t his in the way these Nephilim were Cas’. It took more than some DNA to make a father. 

“You know what I mean,” he said to Sam, turning away and rubbing a hand down his face.

“Yeah, Dean, I do,” Sam said. “You want to go out there and save him, save everyone, and do it your way. But maybe this is one time to do things Cas’ way. This is not our world. All right? And we’ve made Cas play things our way enough times over the years. We owe him.”

Owing Cas wasn’t the question. No-one had given more for Sam and Dean than Cas had. Other people had died, sure, but Cas had done it over and over. 

“It’s not about owing him, Sam. It’s about wanting him safe.”

Dean pressed a hand to his forearm, gripping around the Mark. It didn’t help. The Mark screamed at him that taking an angel blade to the whole damn Court was the best way to get Cas back safe, and if Faith or Drew tried to stop him…

“You really think we should just do what Faith says?” Dean asked, a bit more loudly than he meant to. 

“Yes, Dean,” Sam said. “Yes, I do.”

“Good,” Faith’s voice cut in, and Dean turned to see her standing in the doorway. “Because it’s almost time to eat. You need to change.”

Dean saw Sam looking Faith up and down, and he had to admit, if it didn’t feel like eying up his own step-daughter, he’d have done the same. Faith wore a ball-gown. An actual ball-gown. It seemed to be made of a similar coat to the one she’d been wearing before, flaring out at her hips in to a full skirt, the whole thing made in shades of white and silver. It was a bit much for dinner.

“Do we have to wear something like that?” Dean asked, because so far the clothes had been similar for everyone.

Faith shook her head, one corner of her mouth turning up into something like a smile, if a smile could sit on such a grim expression.

“No. This is the sort of thing you wear as the Head of a House. Old-fashioned concept, I know, but some things stick around here. I’m just glad it fits.”

“It’s not yours?” Sam asked, frowning. 

“No.” Faith didn’t seem inclined to elaborate. “You’ll be fine in something less-”

“Like a dress?” Dean asked.

Faith turned such a blank expression on him that Dean almost apologised. Almost.

“There’s nothing inherently wrong about a man wearing a dress, Dean,” she said. “You do realise Castiel has worn dresses, right? Get over yourself.”

Dean couldn’t tell whether she meant Cas had worn dresses when he was in a female vessel or not, but he dropped it. There were more important things to worry about. He changed into the jacket Faith brought him, watching Sam do the same. They were practically the same as the ones they’d been given before, except there was a different pattern to the thread, and a lot more of it. He wasn’t sure about the lace, but Sam quelled him with a look when he opened his mouth to complain.

“We ready, then?” Dean asked once he’d tugged the shoulders into something vaguely bearable. 

Drew didn’t appear, and Faith had Sam open the doors, gesturing for them to fall into step beside her as she almost glided down the hallway. Dean almost asked what had happened to the striding from earlier, but there was something practiced about the way she was moving that kept him quiet. It was deliberate, that was for sure. 

He heard the noise long before they reached the hall, a different one from before. This one had long tables lining each side, with another across the far end of the room, raised on a dais. People in simple, flowing outfits danced in the open space between the tables and Dean was distracted for a moment. When he focused on the top table, the one for which Faith was heading, he had to force himself to keep a calm expression. The Mark throbbed.

The King sat on a chair as elaborate as the one from earlier, his coat dripping with lace and what Dean was almost sure were tiger’s eyes, stitched to the fabric, used as buttons, hanging from golden chains around his neck. To his right sat Cas. Cas wore a black coat with silver thread, and Dean was almost sure the patterns were sigils. He didn’t recognise them. From the way Faith’s step faltered, just for a fraction of a second, she did.

Cas’ chair had a low back. It must have been to make space for his wings, which looked completely solid in the candlelight around the room. Dean thought he saw silver glinting amongst the black feathers, but he couldn’t be sure. 

As for Cas… His expression was blank, fixed, and he stared out over the hall as though looking at something in a far distance only he could see. He didn’t so much as glance at Dean. He didn’t look at Faith, either. 

Faith appeared not to notice. Once she was in front of the King, she bowed her head, managing to look as though that was no more than a politeness and not reacting to the way his mouth tightened. Dean followed Sam in a deeper bow.

“Your Majesty,” Faith said. “I see your hospitality is as excellent as I remember.”

“I trust you will enjoy it,” he said, his smile something Dean really wanted to smash off his face.

“I am sure I will.” Faith couldn’t be called out for being threatening, but Dean felt like it had been a threat, even so. “Just now, I am hoping to enjoy it alongside my sister.”

“Alas, the noble Seraphine has declined my invitation to dine,” the King said. He wasn’t even trying to make it sound believable. “But I will be glad to entertain you at my table.”

A muscle in Faith’s jaw clenched before she stepped around the table and took a seat at the King’s side. Dean and Sam hesitated, but Faith gestured for them to follow her and stand to either side of her chair. Great. So now they were actually being servants or some shit. 

Once settled, Faith reached for a piece of bread on a platter before her and dipped it into the oil in a small bowl next to it. Dean wondered if he could get some bread or if he’d have to watch Faith eat and hope for something later. 

“Did my sister give a reason for missing such an excellent meal?” Faith asked, holding the piece of bread delicately between two fingers. She didn’t even sound like she was being ironic. 

“She feels your brother’s illness keenly,” the Kind said, but there’d been a pause. “You know how she can be. How you all can be. As I say, I have always admired the close bond.”

“Castiel guided us in that,” Faith said, smiling in a way that looked sweet on the surface.

The King’s eyes flicked sideways, skating over Cas and back to Faith so quickly it could have been missed in the dim lighting and the business of the room. He shifted slightly on his ornate throne.

“As Castiel has set a fine example in many things.”

“You must be honoured that he has agreed to advise you,” Faith said, the saccharine sweetness in her voice rising. “You mother certainly was, back in the day.”

At that, the King turned abruptly and tore a leg from some roasted bird. He didn’t speak for a while, although he didn’t eat much of the leg, either. Faith ate her way through a decent part of the loaf before the conversation resumed.

“The Crown has always appreciated what the Seraph has done for our kind,” he said, as though Cas wasn’t sitting on the other side of him. “Of course, it has been many years since that service has taken a tangible form.”

“It has been many years since a great many things,” Faith responded.

As a comment, it meant nothing. It shouldn’t have made the King pale, something Dean saw even without the proper lighting he was used to. 

“It has,” he said. It was close to a snap. “Are you planning on remaining with us for some time?”

“Until my brother and sister are ready to leave.”

Dean envied her calm, or at leas the appearance of it.

“That is something I have never entirely understood, I must admit,” the King said. Dean shifted at the venom that had crept in, a thin trickle of it, but no-one looked at him. “You call yourselves brother and sister, but you are related. You are not blood. And Castiel is related to none of you, yet he remains.” Leaning closer, the King took on a confidential tone, as though he was anyone who could be trusted. “Tell me, is it true, what they say?”

Faith turned her head so she was facing him, no other muscle in her body shifting. 

“Is what true?”

“Did Castiel give his heart to her?”

By this point, they were so quiet that Dean had to strain to hear. He wasn’t sure he’d heard that right.

“You would have to ask him,” Faith said. “I have always respected the privacy of those angels who have helped us. Without them, we would not be here.”

They maintained eye contact for longer than Dean was happy with. Who stared right at someone for that long? Eventually, the King sat back and returned to his food, and Faith resumed eating. After nearly twenty minutes of silence from the pair of them and having to stand still with nothing to eat, Dean was about ready to give up and take one of the empty chairs further down. 

Just as he was about to move, protocol of whatever be damned, a disturbance in the crowd brought his attention round to the floor in front of the top table. A woman in a long dress, one nearly as impressive as Faith’s borrowed gown, made her way across the space. Seraphine.

The King tensed. So did Faith.

“Sister,” Faith called out before anyone else could speak, and as soon as there could be any chance of Seraphine hearing her. “How is our brother? Are the King’s healers helping him?”

Seraphine stopped on the other side of the table and looked at Faith as though she had sprung up from the ground, something remarkable and unexpected. 

“Our brother,” she said, a grating note in her voice, “is still unconscious. There have been no healers with him.”

Clearly, Seraphine was not the one with the political skills. Dean assessed their chances of getting out of this room, with or without Cas’ help, if the King told his guards to attack. Not good. 

Seraphine didn’t look concerned. She looked over at the king and then further, starting and staring as her gaze landed on Cas.

“Castiel?” she said, taking half a step towards him. “What are you…?”

Her words trailed off as he looked him over, and Dean thought he saw her mouth tighten. He was more and more convinced that he should just reach over and snap this king’s neck. Seraphine’s back straightened and she met Faith’s eyes with a grim expression.

“Will you walk with me, sister?” she asked, her tone more formal. “I would discuss our brother’s health with you.”

Dean was almost sure the King was going to refuse to let them, but Faith stood without giving him chance and nodded. 

“Yes. Of course. Your Majesty,” she said, nodding again, this time to the man next to her, and moving away from her chair. “My thanks for the meal, but family matters must come first. You understand, I am sure.”

And she was off, not looking back either at the man who glared at her retreating back or at the angel they really needed to talk about. Dean followed, but he cast a lingering gaze back at Cas, still sitting unmoving on that chair, the silver on his coat and in his wings glittering in the candle-light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep getting stalled on this and then writing whole other fics in the meantime. If you've stuck with me this far, thanks, and I'll get some more up as soon as I can. 
> 
> Work is being, to be blunt, shit in some ways that are shaking my confidence in my own sanity, let alone anything else, so please bear with me.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's really shot, but I figure, get us moving again.

Dean opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on, only to have Faith hush him. They were in a corridor by now, white walls stretching away to either side, and there wasn’t anyone around to overhear them. Still, Faith sounded sure. His promise to Cas held his tongue. Soon, if there wasn’t any movement on getting Cas out of whatever the fuck was happening, Dean would have to break that promise, but he was willing to give it a bit longer. 

Faith walked briskly, Seraphine keeping up without apparent effort. Glancing sideways, Dean saw that Sam had a focused look on his face, the kind of expression that meant he was ready to go through a wall of enemies if he had to. Instead, they left the corridor through an archway and came to a halt in a courtyard. 

Green plants filled pots and trailed up trellises, and the sound of water softened everything. Dean spotted the fountain in the middle of the courtyard, half-hidden by foliage from where they were standing. Stone benches and bronze sculptures filled even more space, and it felt like someone had folded the reality to fit more in here than should be possible.

Faith stopped by a bench not far from the fountain and sank onto it, Seraphine joining her after a pause when Faith waved her hand. Dean and Sam stood in front of them, Dean for one not sure if he still had to act the part of the servant here.

“We’re safe to speak, here,” Faith said, glancing between the brothers. “Never assume the corridors are safe, even if they appear empty, but this…” She leaned over and tapped the sculpture nearest to her, a tall, sweeping thing with which put Dean in mind of a blade and beam of light combined. “This acts to dampen our words. Jay and Castiel created it between them.”

“And it’s here?” Sam asked, apparently finding that hard to believe. 

“Yes.” Faith sounded certain. “The King can’t sense it, what it does. He can’t sense what any of them do. But he values them for their rarity and their antiquity, and he has them transported with his court wherever it goes. But we shouldn’t waste time on trivialities. Seraphine, you need to tell me what’s going on. Why have you done this?”

“Done what?”

Seraphine sat with her chin up, her green eyes filled with a burning resolve. She’d been determined back when Dean had her under his knife, but now she looked immovable. His hand itched to curl around a blade. This woman had set Cas on the path to being some petty King’s slave, as far as Dean could make out. He couldn’t think of a reason good enough to do that. That she was family… It made him sick. 

“Don’t play the fool, Phina,” Faith snapped, her face hardening. “Dean and Sam have told me what happened in that basement, and I saw the spell you put on Castiel. And you took Jay! What in the name of all-”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Seraphine broke in stiffly. 

“Make me!”

Dean didn’t know how Faith could speak to the woman like she was still worthy of having a reason, but he held still, his gaze flicking between the sisters. He couldn’t get Seraphine’s spilled secrets out of his head, the words she’d thrown at him back in that room at the Nephilim’s house. Dean knew secrets Faith didn’t, but what if Seraphine still knew more?

“I can’t,” Seraphine said through gritted teeth. “It’s too… I can’t.”

Dean saw Faith take a deep breath, her chest and shoulders moving as she adjusted her body, twisting to face Seraphine more. He saw Sam’s gaze follow her movements. They were all on edge here. 

“But you can abduct Castiel?” Faith asked, her voice steady the way the ice is right before it breaks and plunges you into the icy lake beneath. “You can mutilate and torture him, bind him? And you can bring Jay here? And now Castiel’s at the mercy of that petty, vindictive, paranoid-”

“I know,” Seraphine said. “Do you think I don’t know?”

“I think you’ve twisted into something I don’t recognise,” Faith said. “What could possibly be reason enough for any of this? Tell me, Sister.”

And Faith hadn’t sounded so very much like she was pleading before. It struck Dean that Faith, even not knowing how true her choice of word was, still used ‘sister’ to mean something more than the angels did when they said it. Even knowing, now, that some angels really were related, Dean had only ever known them to use the terms of family the way a soldier in the army used the name of a rank. It wasn’t to do with a family, not to angels. It was to do with binding to duty, to obedience. But Faith didn’t mean that when she called Seraphine ‘sister’. 

Dean remembered how it cut when Sam and he were at cross-purposes, and he couldn’t for the life of him work out how he felt about any of this. It was a jangled mess of anger and sorrow and worry and pity and… He didn’t even know what else. Something, though. 

“It’s bigger than just one of us,” Seraphine said. “And if Castiel hadn’t left us, if he hadn’t lied and deceived and abandoned us, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“What mess?” Faith demanded.

“There’s a child,” Dean said, because this whole pitch about Cas being a liar only works if Seraphine opens up herself. “A kid she’s hiding from you. She wants to talk about not telling the truth? How about we start there.”

He thought, for a moment, that Seraphine was going to fly for him, but Faith’s hand snapped out, catching her sister by the arm and halting her movement.

“A child?” Faith asked. “What child? Yours?”

Dean expected some lie, and he wasn’t disappointed.

“No,” Seraphine said.

“You said he was your son,” Dean said.

“Not a son,” Seraphine said, sagging in her sister’s hold. “And not mine. I’ve been hiding Castiel’s daughter.”


	56. Chapter 56

“Cas has another daughter?” Dean asked, the words out in the world before he had a chance to trap them.

Seraphine glared, her lips pressed together and her eyes hard agate.

“Yes,” she said. Ground out, really. “And this one must be kept secret.”

Faith’s fingers tightened on her sister’s arm, and her brow creased. She shook her head, once, before saying anything, and Dean was almost sure he heard hurt buried under the words.

“Castiel has daughters?” she asked. “Who? Why don’t we know them?”

Seraphine turned a look on Faith that could have eaten through rock.

“Know them?” she asked. “Sister, don’t be stupid. You can’t be that oblivious.” 

Faith took a breath, tight and controlled, and her jaw clenched. She pulled her hand from Seraphine’s arm and folded both of her hands in her own lap, her straight back and elaborate gown making her look more like a queen than the brat in the banquet room looked like a king. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Faith said.

Seraphine’s lip curled.

“Use your brain,” she said. “Even a Seraph as full of duty and love and determination as Castiel wouldn’t spend so much time with us, wouldn’t have taken years of his life away from his heavenly duty, without a stronger connection than knowing Jay’s mother.”

“They were friends,” Faith said. “And Jay’s father served in Castiel’s unit-”

“Friends.” 

Seraphine made the word flat. 

Faith’s head snapped back almost as though she’d been struck. Her voice was almost locked down when she spoke again. 

“Are you saying there’s more to it?” she asked.

But Dean saw the way her eyes shifted, the way her shoulders were set. If Faith had any squirming little thoughts about this before, they were coming out and shouting now. And they didn’t have time for this. Family drama could happen later, once the family was safe and not acting as some living trophy for that king.

“She’s saying Cas is Jay’s dad,” Dean said, letting it be as blunt as it needed to be. “She’s saying Cas is your dad, too. And hers.”

Faith didn’t react at all. She was perfectly still, staring at her sister as though someone had pressed pause on the universe.

Sam shot Dean a look and stepped forwards, dropping to his knee near Faith and peering up at her.

“Faith?” he asked. “You all right?”

“Fine,” she said. It was quiet, distant. “I’m fine. I…” She frowned, turned to look at Sam as though he’d have answers that made more sense. “Castiel’s my father?”

Sam nodded, doing a fantastic job of looking like he had no trouble with that fact. He’d had a bit longer to get used to it than Faith had, to be fair. Assuming she hadn’t actually worked it out already.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “You, er, you okay with that?”

Faith just stared.

Seraphine sighed and crossed her arms.

“He didn’t want you to know,” she said. “And you know why. Safer if none of us knew.”

“But you knew,” Faith said.

“Yes. Well. Kind of wish I didn’t.”

This needed moving along. However shocking this was, and for whatever reason, it couldn’t get in the way of prising Cas back from that bastard who wanted to use the angel as a status symbol. Dean got it. He did. Not like he was a stranger to shocking family connections. Half-brothers and monster-daughters being thrown up by cases put a wrinkle in things, sure. Didn’t mean the mission stopped.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “What’s the big deal with Cas being your dad? What, he’s not good enough or something?”

That seemed to snap Faith out of whatever trance she’d fallen in to. Shaking her head, she met Dean’s eyes.

“No. Don’t be ridiculous. God, the hours I’ve spent wishing…”

But whatever she’d wished, she didn’t finish the sentence. Dean could imagine, though. Faith acted the dutiful, loving daughter. Made sense she’d want it to be real. Thing was, and much as Dean would always love and respect his dad, no way did someone have to be blood to be a parent.

“What difference does it really make?” he asked. “Cas pretty much raised you. You said that. He protected you. He stuck around when the rest of his sorry kind didn’t. Trust me, I’ve had two men be a dad in my life, and only one of them was blood.”

He saw Sam nod, once, firmly. Faith didn’t look convinced.

“It isn’t that,” she said. “Castiel is as much a parent to us no matter what. But…I knew my father. And he looked like me. It’s my mother I-”

This time, she cut herself off and closed her eyes.

“He’s not my father, is he?” she asked. “If we’re going to apply human terms to this.”

It was Seraphine she looked at when she opened her eyes, and Seraphine shrugged one shoulder. Faith sighed and nodded.

“Okay. I don’t suppose that makes much difference, as far as it goes. And it still isn’t the issue.”

Before Dean could demand to know what was, Faith held up a hand, stopping anyone else from speaking.

“Our politics are as screwed up as you might expect. The King holds the throne because he can claim descent from a powerful Seraph. I know. Stupid, really. Heaven’s ranks shouldn’t dictate our leaders. But…they do.”

She pulled a face at that.

Dean could see enough of Sam’s face to judge his expression, and his brother got that look that said something had clicked.

“Wait,” Sam said, his head coming up as though the idea was inflating him. “Are you saying Cas is a higher level angel than the King’s ancestor? Is that why he kept you all hidden?”

Dean caught on, and almost groaned.

“Tell me I’m not caught in some angel version of Game of Thrones,” he said. “Fuck, don’t tell me you’re in love with Jay or something. We do not need Lannister level screw-ups, here.”

“Jay and I aren’t leaping into bed together,” Faith said, tone dry. She was recovering from this news fast, it seemed. Even as Dean watched, she smoothed down her skirt and sat up straighter, visibly pulling herself together. “But yes. Essentially, we’re dangerous to the King if it becomes known. But…” She stopped again and tapped a finger on the stone beneath her. “But the King’s ancestor was on a level with Castiel, and his family took the lead a long time ago, so he’d still have the edge. In theory.”

Seraphine shifted, looking ready to stand and try to leave. 

“Sera,” Faith said, and that command from earlier was in her voice. “Why is this other child different? Why is she the one you have to keep secreted away to the extent you’d turn on Castiel?”

“Can’t you just trust me we need to do this?” Seraphine asked. She sounded genuinely frustrated that Faith was making this so hard. “Help me get her out of here. The King doesn’t know what she is. He just thinks she’s my son. I hid her as best I could, and he hasn’t seen through my spell yet, but he will, and then he’ll wonder why I disguised her, and I wish I could say I’d be immune to his…persuasion, but you know he’s collected every scrap he can about angelic correction methods. I’d break. I’d break, Faith, and he’d know, and he’d kill her. He’d kill her, and us, and he’d find a way to justify killing Castiel, and then we’d all be dead and there’d be no-one to get rid of the bastard!”

Seraphine’s voice rose, panic seeping into it, and Dean felt his shoulders tense, felt his hands curl into fists. He did not like this woman. He’s watched her rip into Cas. But she sounded desperate, and afraid, and he remembered doing worse in Hell, and for less reason.

“Persuasion?” Sam asked. “Correction?”

Faith answered, measured and calm. The contrast between her and her sister was sharper than ever. Seraphine was unravelling in the face of them knowing, but Faith looked to have come through her moment of shock and be using to shore herself up.

“Heaven taught Hell everything it knows about torture,” she said. “It just wraps it in righteous language. There’s no danger of Castiel breaking, even if the King realises there’s anything to torture out of him. No matter how well that entitled child has learnt, he doesn’t know a fraction of what Castiel will already have suffered through. Although…”

“Although?” Sam prompted.

“Although Castiel has manifested his wings, and they are more vulnerable on this plane than any other part of him. Still, I doubt the King could break him.”

“But if he hears about this, you know he’ll try,” Seraphine said.

Her eyes were too bright, red light and blue flaring, and she looked partway to snarling. 

“Yes. There is that,” Faith said. She spoke quietly.

“So lets grab the kid and the others and get out of here,” Dean said. 

“The King took her to use as leverage against me,” Seraphine said, as though spelling something out to someone who made an Olympic sport of missing the point. “He doesn’t know he’s got the one Nephilim who could overthrow his claim outright. Doesn’t mean he’s got her under a light guard. He knew he’d have to give me a reason to turn on the Seraph who protected me all these years. And he’s right. Wrong reason, but the right pressure point.”

“What kind of guard are we talking about?” Sam asked, and Dean half expected his brother to pull a notebook from somewhere and start jotting down information. 

Seraphine’s tension was written in every line of her body.

“He’s keeping her in his personal chambers. She’s surrounded by his most powerful magic-wielders and his most skilled guards, and he threatened to bind her to him if I didn’t do as he wanted.”

Faith scowled.

“A binding means seeing right into someone’s true form,” she said. “If he does that-”

“He’ll know who she is. Yes.”

Dean was getting a headache. It wasn’t made any better by Sam’s next question.

“Exactly how old is this kid? Because you keep talking as though she’s young. But Cas has been with us for years. Are you saying he somehow had a kid while he was fighting archangels and getting zapped to purgatory?”

“We don’t age at the same rate as humans,” Faith said, “and Seraphine’s skilled enough she could have slowed that further. I’m guessing.”

She looked a question at her sister, who nodded. She also wrapped herself in her own arms, rubbing at her arms as though she needed to warm up. 

“Yes. I needed to muddy the trail as much as I could.”

“Well, now you need to unmuddy it,” Faith said, and Seraphine was the one to close her eyes this time. “I don’t get why you kept this from us. I don’t get why Castiel did. And Jay bonded with him. He must know-”

“Jay’s known for years,” Seraphine said. “Castiel and Jay kept the rest of us in the dark, for years. They didn’t know I worked it out. But they agreed to keep it from anyone else.”

“They were wrong,” Faith said, even though she looked pained about it. The way she looked at Cas, it must be hard to admit he could make a mistake. “And you need to tell me what else you know, right now. Then…then I’ll help you.”

Dean opened his mouth to ask exactly what help they were giving. No way was he on board with leaving Cas here, just in case that was what either one of them had in mind, but Faith gestured for him to be quiet.

“Well?” she asked. “Sera?”

“Fine. Fine.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rubbing her temples. The light in her eyes dimmed a little. It still wasn’t anywhere close to human. “When our city was attacked, you know how many died.”

“Yes.” Faith didn’t add anything else. 

“And you know that Gabriel’s daughter was killed in the attack.”

“Yes.” Faith glanced at Sam, then Dean, and added, “She was our leader, at the start. If she’d lived, she still would have been.”

“Well, her line should have still held the throne,” Seraphine said, and rushed on when Faith opened her mouth. “It’s relevant. The King’s great-grandmother stepped in because we all thought Gabriel’s line was ended, and no-one knew Castiel had a line. He was always a tactician. Must have kept it quiet for a reason. I don’t know. Maybe he already had his suspicions, back before Naomi managed to wipe them. Maybe some of that stuck with him. Thing is, we were all wrong.”

“About?” Faith asked.

“About Gabriel’s line being dead. His daughter had a child. A son.” She grimaced and Dean was almost sure she glanced at him. “Drew.”

Drew. Drew was Gabriel’s…what? Grandson. But…

“Wait, are you saying Cas and Drew had a kid?” Dean demanded. 

He’d more or less convinced himself that Drew had been smoking something with all that crap about him and Cas being a thing. Cas had brushed the guy off, snapped at him and been distant. But this…

Seraphine nodded. 

“Castiel had a female vessel. And he knew Drew’s ancestry. Of course he did. Maybe not at first, but he knew. People always spoke about how close he was to Gabriel’s daughter, the most powerful Nephilim. A lot of our people assumed he loved her, and I suppose they must have been right. Perhaps not in the way he loved her, but he found Drew, eventually, and brought him to be part of our family.” Seraphine shrugged. “I don’t know if he genuinely loved Drew or if he decided we needed someone with an unquestionable claim to the throne. A child from both Gabriel’s line and Castiel’s… Well. I can’t think of many of our people who’d refuse that claim.”

Dean’s head was spinning. 

“You think Cas would have a kid for…for politics?”

Faith and Seraphine looked almost pitying.

“Castiel had done more than that to secure our people’s safety,” Faith said, and there was no hint of censure or disgust in that. “He’d keep any such child away from the Court until she was old enough to claim it. What I don’t understand it why he left her with you.”

“He didn’t.”

Seraphine nodded at Sam, then Dean.

“The apocalypse kicked off. Castiel had hidden himself well, but Drew and I tracked him down-”

“You and Drew? Cas was hiding from Drew?” Dean broke in.

“Yes,” Seraphine said, and there was the imperious tone Dean hadn’t missed. “He up and left, and Drew didn’t know anything about any kid, just that Castiel finally seemed to view him the way Drew had always wanted him to, and then that he vanished.”

“So, Drew was lusting after Cas for years and Cas didn’t feel the same way?” Dean asked. And, yeah, maybe he was getting hung up on the wrong things, here, but come on. “How do we know he even meant this to happen. Maybe he just got tired of Drew making cow eyes at him and the kid’s an accident.”

Seraphine stared at him. The only way to describe her gaze was ‘withering’.

“What does it matter? Whether he meant this or not, that fact is that Drew got a lead and disappeared, too, and when I found them Castiel was gone and Drew was holding his vessel’s body.”

“And we thought he was dead,” Faith said. “There were wingmarks.”

Seraphine nodded.

“I thought that, too. For a long while. When I found the baby, I saw what she was, but I didn’t know if Drew had killed Castiel. You know how angry he can get. I didn’t know. I swear. But I knew I had to keep that child safe. So I took her, and I ran.”

She looked away from them all, down at her hands.

“And then Castiel reappeared, in a new vessel, and when the King told me I had to bring Jay to him in return for the child, I couldn’t do it. And I let slip that Jay wasn’t the head of our household, anyway. Not with-”

She stopped. She looked close to tears, and it took a while before she went on again.

“I saw Castiel by accident, when I was tracking demons a few years back. He looked right at me and didn’t know me. But I saw him, and I saw you.” She looked at Dean. “It was clear he had a new family. That he’d left us.”

“His mind was wiped,” Dean said, stung on Cas’ behalf.

“He still left us,” Seraphine said. “Us, and his new child, and Drew. And why would I give up my brother, who stuck by me, when the King would rather have Castiel, anyway?”

Anger licked at Dean’s insides, the Mark flaring up.

“We don’t even know Cas’ reasons,” he said. “You manipulate him into giving himself up to this bastard King because you’re all hurt he left you? Does wingmarks seem like a good thing to you? How do you know he wanted to leave?”

“Wingmarks only happen when an angel dies,” Faith said. “If Castiel didn’t die in that vessel, then another angel did. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“And it won’t until we can ask Cas!”

Sam was on his feet, holding Dean back, before Dean fully realised he’d bared his teeth and taken a step in Faith’s direction. Faith didn’t move, except to raise an eyebrow.

“And we’ll ask him,” she said. “As soon as we can.”

“The King’s spellworkers-” Seraphine started.

“Aren’t as powerful as Drew,” Faith said, cutting in smoothly. “And now we know why. I just wish Drew had inherited some of his grandfather’s sense of humour. But we can’t have everything.”

“You’re okay with this?” Dean asked, even though a few minutes ago he’d been telling her to pull it together. “Gabe’s one of the biggest dicks I’ve ever met-”

“We can discuss your knowledge of dick sizes later, too,” Faith said, and carried on as though that didn’t make Dean splutter. “Seraphine, if there is anything else you know, anything, then you need to tell us now.”

Seraphine raised her chin, the light in her eyes calming, steadying.

“Those are the main points,” she said. “What do you propose we do?”

“That depends,” Faith said. “Are you going to accept my lead?”

There was a moment where Dean was almost sure Seraphine was going to make another attempt to storm out, or lash out, or something, but it passed, and Seraphine lowered her head, just enough it could pass as respect.

“I’ll follow your lead,” she said, “as long as you swear the child is our priority.”

“You care for her that much?” Faith asked, as though they weren’t talking about a sister she’d only just learned she had.

“I would give my life for hers,” Seraphine said. “And when the time comes, I intend to see her take the throne.”


	57. Chapter 57

They didn’t go back to the meal. 

Faith had a servant take word that she was tired and needed rest, and Seraphine disappeared for an hour, slipping back into Faith’s rooms with every sign she was there in secret. Dean had no idea how she got past the guards at their door and didn’t ask. 

Breaking the news to Drew turned out to be a bit different to Faith hearing it. 

“A daughter?” he asked, his voice rising. “I have a daughter? And I’m Gabriel’s grandson?”

“There’s no need to shout,” Faith told him.

She sat with her back straight on one of the hard-backed chairs in the room, and Dean couldn’t help but think she’d make a far better ruler than a kid would. She certainly would do a better job of it than that bastard in the banquet hall. 

“No need to-?” Drew ran a hand over his face and looked up at the ceiling as though it might have answers. “You do see how this is? Castiel kept my own child from me? My own heritage?”

Faith stayed silent as Drew turned and paced around the room, and even Seraphine, now sitting on a couch near to her sister with her hands folded in her lap, kept any thoughts to herself. 

From the chairs they’d taken, Dean and Sam just watched. Faith had suggested, in the span of time where Drew and Seraphine had been out of the room, that they hang back for now. Sam had agreed right away, and Dean had to shrug off the image of Cas’ daughter somehow being his sister-in-law. It was a bizarre image, anyway. He was probably being ridiculous. Sam could be nice to someone and it not mean anything. 

Finally, Drew stopped wearing a hole in the carpet and sat heavily on a free couch, his head in his hands.

“This makes no sense,” he said. “If Castiel wanted someone else on the throne, why not me? I have a claim. A good claim. It’s a better claim by far than the King has.”

“Perhaps he wants someone he can control,” Faith said, and Dean opened his mouth, closing it again when Faith raised her little finger in warning. 

That was all it took, somehow. Cas’ daughter was scary in how much he wanted to follow her lead.

“He could control me,” Drew said, miserably. 

And not at all creepily. Really. 

“He’s always had a hold over you,” Faith said, as though her dad being obsessed over by her step-brother wasn’t weird, “but I wouldn’t say he ever controlled you, Drew.”

And Dean was certain that Cas wouldn’t be so stupid as to put someone as unstable as Drew on the throne. 

God, he was thinking about Cas like he was some kind of king-maker, like the guy was Littlefinger from Game of Thrones, and his life was not meant to throw up so many analogies to that show as it was doing today. 

“In any case, we need to rescue this child, your daughter. Our sister. And we need to rescue Jay and Castiel. We’ve ignored the Court for too long, because it was safer to ignore it, we thought, but the King made a play for our family and it’ll only be worse if he knows who he’s got.”

“That binding he has on Castiel,” Drew said, some of his emotion draining into a calmer, more focused tone, “it’s strong. And bear in mind that Dean and Jay both have bonds with him, now. I’ve never heard of that much being put on an angel at once, not even one as strong as Castiel. I don’t know how to snap it without damaging him.”

“If it comes to it,” Faith said, “you snap it and we’ll deal with the damage later.”

Dean’s whole body flinched, wanting to move at the implied threat to Castiel. The Mark burned in his skin. It took effort to keep himself in his seat. 

“This binding the King has on Cas,” Sam broke in. “What does it do? Des it actually control him?”

“After we were attacked by the Host,” Faith said, “the new Queen had it used a few times. For security, she said. I know it ate at her, especially when one angel she had bound used to be one of us. It seemed then that the binding controlled them completely, but it didn’t last long.”

“No?” Sam asked. “They broke free?”

Faith shook her head. She wasn’t meeting Dean’s or Sam’s eyes, and the look she shared with Drew chilled everything but that spot of flame on Dean’s arm.

“No,” Faith said. “No, they died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for this whole fic. But I am also going to finish it in the next few weeks, as I have no intention of leaving any WIP unfinished.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr, at [humanformdragon](http://humanformdragon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come say hello.


End file.
